The First Twenty-Five Days of December
by jankmusic
Summary: On the first day of December, the very first day they met, John Watson was put in an awkward situation. On the second day of December, they ran into each other and he bought her a cup of hot chocolate and learned her name. On the third day of December, they ran into each other again and he was certain that he was quickly and unequivocally falling for the one and only Mary Morstan.
1. Mistletoe

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Chapter One: Mistletoe

* * *

_"I can't believe it is December 1__st __already! Are you still spending your holiday with me for Christmas, little brother?"_

John Watson rolled his eyes and glared at his phone. "Harry, I am nearly four years older than you—"

_"And four inches shorter!"_ His sister cackled, and John just huffed and finished tying his tie. When he didn't say anything for a moment, Harry murmured, _"Don't be mad, Johnny. I do want you to stay with me. I haven't seen you in months and I know…I just know how lonely you are."_

"Harry I'm fine—"

_"Like hell you are! You live in that awful three room flat on the worst side of London, far away from everyone and you hardly talk to your friends and you never update your blog. I get it, you're sad because it's been a year and a half—"_

"Harry…" John growled warningly.

_"Can I just say something, please?"_ his younger sister begged. John carefully picked up his phone from the bathroom sink and trudged to his bedroom, dropping down on his uncomfortable bed.

"Go on then," he said, running a hand over his face.

There was silence on the other line, and then, _"It's been a year and a half since you've lost Sherlock. I'm not telling you to get your arse moving and be happy again, I just want you to stop alienating your friends. You know that that Detective Inspector is sorry; he was just doing his job. And that lovely woman…Molly, is it? She just sent me an e-mail last week, wanting to check up on you, but you've been ignoring her. Is it true no one knows where you live or what you've been up to? Be honest with me, please."_

"His brother knows," John choked out. He chewed on his thumbnail for a moment and then asked, "Did she really e-mail you?"

_"Yes."_

There was silence again. John stared blankly at the floor between his feet, his mind thinking about the people he had left behind. Greg Lestrade didn't deserve the open hostility from him. Sherlock would agree that the Detective Inspector was just doing his job, and he shouldn't expect anything less of him, as well as Sally and Anderson. Mrs. Hudson didn't deserve to be abandoned after a man she considered to be a son took his own life. And Molly Hooper, _poor_ Molly Hooper. She had been in love with the sodding git even though he had treated her so harshly sometimes. She had been the closest person to Sherlock for years before he came into the picture; she knew him better than the man knew himself.

_"Johnny?"_

"Yeah?"

_"You should be leaving for the tube in a few minutes, and I know you haven't brushed your teeth yet."_

John glanced at his alarm clock and jumped up. "Shit!" he swore, his cane clattering to the floor. He bent to pick it up as his sister said,

_"It was nice talking to you. I'll call you maybe in the evening next time instead of before your shift."_

"Alright. I'll see you soon Harry. And thank you."

* * *

John was wrapped up in his own mind as he squeezed into one of the last available seats on the train. He placed his briefcase on the floor between his knees and tucked his cane into the crook of his arm. Then he dug his phone out of his coat pocket and stared at it for several long moments.

He felt tired. He looked tired. His hair grayed more in the last year and a half than it had since Afghanistan. And he was lonely. Truly lonely—worse than before Sherlock, because he now had a taste of what life was like with his best friend.

It was halfway through his train ride that he finally made a decision and typed a short message. _'Dinner?—JW'_

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and looked up to observe the people surrounding him. There were six people standing up on the train altogether. There were a group of young teenagers towards the front of the train, and they were being loud and obnoxious. The passengers seated around them were watching warily. Then there was a slender woman standing somewhat close to him, her blonde hair cut short, only the ends peeking out of her knit cap. She had a backpack on and two shopping bags gripped tightly in her hands.

He looked back down to the teenagers at the other end of the train, and he felt irritation rising in him. Two of them were now shoving each other, obviously about to get into some kind of fight. As the train was slowing close to a stop, the group of boys ran to the back of the train, laughing.

One of them shoved the woman with two bags out of their way, and she stumbled backwards. John was close enough that he was able to reach out and steady her with his hands on her hips. When she regained her balance, he quickly dropped his hands. "Alright?" he asked gruffly, knowing how inappropriate it was to touch a stranger like that on the tube.

"Yeah, fine, thanks," she said, eyeing him up and down before sending him a small smile and moving towards the exit.

John realized a little too late that he was following the woman on the train.

Not necessarily following her. They were just walking in the same direction.

Well, he was following her until she stopped in the middle of the pavement and spun around to glare at him. "Why are you following me?" There was an edge of fear in her voice, and John immediately stopped in his tracks.

"I'm not following you, I promise!" he said. He quickly unzipped his winter coat and showed her his white lab coat before limping a little closer so she could see his identification. "I'm a doctor at the clinic right there," he said, pointing up the street. She scrutinized his badge for several seconds before she smiled bashfully at him.

"You can never be too careful of the freaks on the train." Her eyes widened and she quickly took a step back. "I mean, not that you're a freak or anything—oh dear…I've put my foot in my mouth," she said with a giggle.

John smiled widely at her, feeling his heart pick up a bit. "It's uhh…fine. You know you're right. Better safe than sorry and all!"

They held their gaze for a few moments before the woman looked away. "I better get going. I have to get this mistletoe sorted for my students."

"Okay…uhh…" John ran a hand through his hair nervously before balling his free hand into a fist at his side. "Have a good day then."

"Right. You too."

And with that, the woman turned and quickly walked away from him.

John ran his hand through his hair one more time before closing the distance between himself and the clinic and unlocked the front door. He always arrived about twenty minutes before the opening nursing came in, giving him time to check any work related e-mail, messages, and brew enough coffee and tea to get him and the other doctor and two nurses through the first few hours of the shift.

The building was quiet and John turned on the lights and went straight to his office, unlocking the door and opening it. He took off his coat and hung it up beside his door before fishing out his phone and making his way towards his desk. He plopped down into his seat and opened his bag, pulling out his computer. As it was booting up he looked at his phone and smiled.

He had one text message from Molly Hooper. _'Sounds lovely! I don't work tomorrow! You can come around for tea. :)'_

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten breakfast yet that morning. He slowly typed out his response to Molly, telling her what time he would be around the next day, and then he settled into his desk and began his work for the day.

And if the image of the woman with two bags of mistletoe for her students kept popping up into his mind during quiet portions of the morning, he tried to ignore it.

He failed miserably.

* * *

A/N: I literally just finished a 30 Day Sherlolly challenge yesterday. And I am now going to attempt to write this. There was a Christmas 25 Day Challenge floating around Tumblr, and I figured, I'm crazy enough to want to write it! Each chapter title is the prompt of the day from the list. I'm really hoping to get this done before Christmas, which means hunkering down and writing daily.

And starting now, I'm going to try and respond to every review I receive, because I'm tired of being rude to the people who leave me comments!

As always, have a beautiful day!

-Janet


	2. Hot Chocolate

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Two: Hot Chocolate

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

"Doctor Watson! Your last patient of the day had to cancel. You're free to go home for a long weekend!"

John looked up from his computer screen and stared at the secretary of the clinic for a moment. "What?" he asked dumbly.

"You're free!"

He smiled brightly at her and looked back at his computer. All he needed was to finish the e-mail he was sending to a former patient with follow-up questions about her medication, and then he was free for a long two and a half day weekend.

Normally John wasn't excited about the weekends he had off because he always just sat in his flat and watched the telly or drank or slept. But the second phone call from his sister the night before encouraging him to meet up with his friends got him excited about his dinner with Molly that evening, and it even had him contemplating ringing up Lestrade for drinks at their usual pub.

With the e-mail sent and his lab coat hanging up in his office, he donned his scarf and coat and smiled at the receptionist before stepping out of the clinic and promptly freezing.

"When and why did the temperature drop?" he complained to no one, as he made his way to the tube station. He tightened his grip on his cane and shifted his bag on his shoulder. He only made it a few steps before he made a rash decision and crossed the street.

He needed a coffee and then he was going to take a cab back to his flat. It was too cold to walk to and ride the tube without gloves.

He stepped into the small shop he frequented for lunch and closed the door behind him. Then he went straight to the counter. Since he was done at the clinic relatively early, there wasn't a line of customers waiting for coffee or sandwiches. "A bit early, Doc?"

"Yeah. Done early today, Tom," John said with a genuine smile on his face. Tom was an older man, and was very kind to John when he first started frequenting the shop about a year ago.

"The usual or are you not peckish yet?"

Before John could answer, he heard a giggle and he turned to see the woman who he met on the tube and followed to his place of employment the day before. "It's you!" she said with a giggle, smiling at him hesitantly.

She was wearing a navy knit cap today.

"We meet again," John said, smiling.

Once again they stared at each other for a moment and then John stepped to the side. "Ladies first."

"Are you sure?" she took a step forward and John nodded his head enthusiastically. Then she turned to the kind older man and said, "I'd like a large hot chocolate, please."

"And I'll take a large coffee, milky with one sugar." John paid for the drinks with a fiver and smiled at the woman.

"You're Doctor John Watson," she said conversationally as they waited for their drinks.

John stiffened considerably, thinking he knew what was going to come next. Questions about Sherlock Holmes, cases he worked, whether or not he actually believed his friend was a fraud…it happened daily for months after Sherlock took his life. "I am Doctor John Watson," he said tightly. He stared straight ahead and tried to smile.

"Hmm…" the woman said, and John could see her shifting her weight. "Would you like to know my name?"

John looked at her, his eyes a bit wide r. "I—uh—yes. What is your name?"

She smiled at him widely, and he could see a bit of a blush on her cheeks. She held out her hand and said, "I'm Mary Morstan."

He took her hand and shook it. "It's a pleasure to finally learn your name, Miss Morstan."

It was a bit disappointing that the lovely Miss Mary Morstan couldn't stay for a chat. She had to rush off back to school and prep for her next class of students—John still had no idea what she taught.

But at least he knew her name.

* * *

John knocked on the door to Molly's flat and took a step back, tightening his grip on the case of beer he had in his free hand.

"One moment!" he heard a shout from inside, followed by, "Toby, stop tripping me!" After only a few seconds, the door was pulled open and there stood Molly Hooper, grinning brightly at him.

"Molly," he said, smiling at her. "I brought beer because I wasn't sure what we were having…"

"Beer is good," Molly said, opening the door wider and beckoning him inside. "Steak and potatoes is what we're having, if that's alright?"

"It's definitely alright!" John said, smiling even wider.

"Great! Come to the kitchen. I just finished grilling the steak."

John followed Molly to her kitchen, trying not to scrutinize her too closely. It was obvious, at least to him, that she lost a stone or two, her clothes even baggier on her than they used to be. The dark circles beneath her eyes rivaled the ones he had immediately after Sherlock—he shook his head firmly, trying to dislodge those thoughts. He was here to eat with Molly, not to remember some of the darker times of his life.

"I'm glad you brought beer because the wine I have isn't too good with steak." She indicated that John take a seat at the table and he did so, leaning his cane against the wall. "I've been so busy lately at Ba—at work that I haven't had time to talk to anyone. How are you? How are things? Are you thirsty? Do you want a beer now?"

John watched her, a little concerned as she shuffled around his kitchen. He knew for a fact that she had tried contacting him too many times to count in the past few months and had resorted to e-mailing his sister to find out about him. "I've been working in a clinic, actually. I've been there for seven months. It's a bit boring, but it pays the bills and I've made a few friends there."

"That's good," Molly said brightly, moving food to the table. "Is it like a free clinic or…?"

"Free clinic," John said. "And I'll take a beer too."

In a matter of minutes, he and Molly were sitting across from each other, tucking into their meal. He could see Molly was trying her best to keep the conversation light hearted and running smoothly, and he appreciated that, but he could also see that she was tired; the kind of tired he was familiar with.

When the conversation lulled and the only sound was their cutlery on porcelain, John took a swig of his beer and braced himself. "Are you alright, Molly Hooper?"

Molly carefully placed her fork on her plate and he watched as she rested her head in her hand, looking at him resignedly. "Isn't that my line?" she asked.

"It's everyone's line, at some point or another." John stood up slowly and gripped his cane, offering his other hand to Molly. "Your sofa has to be more comfortable than these chairs."

John led the way to Molly's sofa, her hand clasped tightly in his. He sat down slowly, but didn't let go.

"Will you tell me...even if I don't deserve to hear it because of my terrible attitude towards you the past year…will you tell me what's wrong?"

"I just miss him!" she blurted out suddenly, throwing her free hand over mouth. He could see that she was fighting and failing to reign in her emotions. After a few moments, she dropped her hand and looked at their hands. "I miss him more than I should—more than I deserve to, and it's just…it's eating me up inside."

"What makes you think you're less deserving than everyone else?"

He saw her open her mouth and close it several times, before she shook her head wept. John gently began rubbing her back. "He was an idiot, Molly. He was a giant, sodding git for not treating you right one hundred percent of the time, but you have to know you counted, right? You count more than me or Greg…maybe not Mrs. Hudson, but definitely more than me. And you deserve to grieve and be upset over his death more than anyone in this room right now. So, just let it out, okay? Let it out."

* * *

Other than the bit where he cried and Molly cried over memories of their fallen friend, John had an enjoyable evening, and he desperately wished he could take back the last year; friendship would have done him a bit of good instead of hiding away in his new but relatively lonely and barren flat.

As he stepped into his home and toed off his shoes at the door, he couldn't help but feel lighter. Molly Hooper, good food, great beer, and a bit of a cry did wonders for his soul. He made a mental note to send Molly flowers and a coffee invite the following day as he went to his kitchen and filled his kettle.

He began his nightly routine, double checking and making sure his door was locked, turning on the small radiator in his tiny bedroom, turning on the kettle, and then sitting down in front of the telly to watch the news.

As he drank his cuppa, he absentmindedly thought of ways he could disrupt his typical weekend ritual. "Maybe I can visit Mrs. Hudson or something…" he murmured out loud, finishing the last of his tea before taking his cup to the kitchen and going to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Soon he was in his warm bedroom and beneath his blankets, sleep coming to him easily.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting this story! :)

-Janet


	3. Snow

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Three: Snow

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

* * *

John woke the next day to the unmistakable feeling that the weather in London was being uncharacteristically…winter-like. He eased himself out of bed, groaning at the stiffness in his joints and muscles, and made his way to the only window in his bedroom and glared.

Snow.

A lot of snow.

It _never_ snowed in London, especially in early December.

He glared until he laughed. "When did I become such an old man!" he muttered to himself before turning away from the window. A good cuppa would do him wonders that morning.

He resumed his regular morning routine on Saturdays when he didn't work, taking a long hot shower, drinking several cups of tea, and eating toast with honey.

But instead of making himself comfortable on his sofa and watching mindless hours of telly before eating a lunch of beans and toast, he went and dug out a pair of boots, added a jumper to his button down shirt and jeans, and put on his coat.

Today, he was going to visit Sherlock.

* * *

John had only visited Sherlock's grave a handful of times since his suicide, and each time it made his heart ache. But today, as he stood over the grave of his best friend, he felt a bit of peace. His leg hurt, reminding him that his psychosomatic injury was irritated by his stress and grief, but it didn't hurt as bad.

_Dinner with Molly certainly helped in that respect._

John carefully leaned over and brushed off the accumulating snow on the headstone and stared at the dead flowers surrounding his grave. Scribbled notes of "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" littered the site, peeking through the snow, and John picked up the ruined messages and flowers, cleaning up the area.

Then he bowed his head and breathed shallowly for a few moments. He leaned heavily on his cane and sighed, whispering to the cold snow filled air, "It's getting easier, mate. But a miracle would still be appreciated." He laughed softly and squeezed his fist tighter around the flowers and notes. He could feel the muscles in his hand beginning to twitch. "I will always believe in you, Sherlock Holmes." He opened his eyes and blinked a few times.

After a moment he patted the headstone, pivoted the best he could with the snow beneath his feet and his bad leg, and left the cemetery. On his way out, he binned the flowers and rubbish.

Stuck in his thoughts, it took John a full minute after exiting the cemetery to realize someone had fallen in step with him. He glanced up in confusion before the solemn look on his face dropped and he stared in bewilderment at a woman with her short blonde hair hidden beneath a bright pink knit cap.

"Miss Morstan?" he asked before pausing in his steps. His look of bewilderment must have been humorous because she laughed. "Are you the one following me now?"

"I—yes, I guess I am," she said, removing her hands from her pockets to reveal matching bright pink gloves. "I live around here and I somehow ran out of tea and coffee—how improper of me, right?" she asked before continuing. "And I need a cuppa right now and so I was going to this little deli around the corner and I recognized you from your coat since I've seen it the last two days and since you bought me hot chocolate yesterday, I just thought I could return the favor and take you for coffee and maybe lunch? If that's not too weird? Because you can't be too careful of freaks on the tube, am I right?" She took a heaving breath as if she hadn't breathed in several minutes and waited.

John blinked once.

Then a second time.

He had seen this woman three days in a row. The first time they ran into each other was a coincidence. They worked in the same area and that could be expected at a popular little shop. But this? This was…fate.

And John hardly believed in fate.

He forced a smile, his mind still a bit focused on Sherlock and said, "Lunch and coffee would be great!"

Mary's eyes flickered over his shoulder to the cemetery he just vacated and then she returned his gaze. She hesitated for only a split second, and then she nodded her head confidently, her eyes brightening. "I'll lead the way, Doctor Watson."

"Fantastic, Miss Morstan."

Despite having over eight million citizens in London, foot traffic was remarkably light for a Saturday afternoon. John followed Mary quietly as she lead the way to the deli, and he appreciated her quiet as he finished collecting his thoughts and sorting through his feelings that he always seemed to have after visiting or even thinking deeply about Sherlock.

Once they reached the deli, John felt more in control of himself. He smiled as he held the door open for Mary and bowed slightly. "Ladies first," he said, repeating what he said the day before.

"Ever chivalrous, Doctor Watson," she said, stepping inside and almost immediately removing her cap and gloves. John watched her as she began unbuttoning her coat, folding it over a chair. His eyes swept over her appreciatively, his eyes lingering on her form flattering jeans as she bent to retrieve her wallet from her coat pocket.

He cleared his throat rubbed a hand over his face, hoping the heat he felt on his neck and cheeks could be blamed on the cold air that was still coming into the shop because he hadn't fully stepped inside yet. _'She just called you chivalrous, John! Control yourself!'_ he chided himself, rolling his eyes at his inner monologue. He stepped inside, finally, and began removing his coat, placing it across from the chair Mary had chosen. When he looked at her, her cheeks were pink, but her eyes were sparkling.

"Now don't make me take that compliment back, Doctor Watson."

His blush was definitely noticeable as he looked sheepishly, lowering his gaze to his shoes. When he glanced up through his eyelashes, she had the gall to wink at him playfully. "You can call me John, Miss Morstan."

"Then please do me a favor and call me Mary. Only my students call me Miss Morstan, and you're definitely not one of my students."

It had been a _long_ time since John flirted with a woman, and he felt a burst of butterflies erupt in his gut as Mary walked towards the counter and paused to look at him over her shoulder. "Well, come on _John_!"

And his name had never sounded like _that_ before.

He shivered and gripped his cane a bit tighter before following Mary to the ordering counter. He had a feeling that he was already mad about Mary Morstan, and he hardly knew the woman. He listened as Mary smiled and talked to the woman behind the counter before ordering a sandwich and soup for herself. John ordered the same thing, and then the two of them moved back to the table.

"So you're a doctor," Mary began.

"I am. A former army doctor before I was invalided, actually."

"And you were stationed…?"

"In Afghanistan." John leaned back in his seat. "Honest question, have you ever read my blog? I mean, before…" he waved his hand around as if that would adequately describe what he wanted to say.

"I have, actually. But enough about you," she said dismissively, a cheeky grin adorning her features. "You must be dying to learn about me!"

And John laughed hard, and it felt…_good_. "I do know very little about you."

"Well, ask away John. I'm a very interesting person."

As they talked through their lunch and then coffee, John had the sudden realization that Mary was avoiding talking about anything about his past as the "Blogger". He thought of the concern that flashed briefly in her eyes before they left for the deli outside the cemetery, and he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the woman who _knew_ what needed.

* * *

John dropped down to his sofa, a mug of tea in one hand and his phone in the other.

He was a lost cause.

Mary Morstan was everything he could possibly need in his life right now.

"She's brilliant, Harry. And funny—no! Hilarious! And she's smart. And she's a music teacher. _A music teacher_, Harry! I love music. And she's very pretty—gorgeous! And did I mention she was brilliant?" he gushed into the phone, disregarding the fact that he sounded like a teenage girl in a film. "We had lunch and coffee and spoke for hours about everything and I feel like we hardly touched the surface of—of—"

He stopped short as his sister started to laugh. He clutched his mug a bit tighter and felt a wave of heat flush over his face. But then Harry said, _"Oh Johnny! This is good! This is so good! You haven't been on a date in ages. How the hell did you meet this vision of perfection?"_

"On the tube," John said after clearing his throat and taking a sip of tea. "And then I ran into her yesterday at this coffee shop and then today near her flat."

"So are you going to call her?"

John paused for a moment, then groaned and dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling. "I don't have her number!" _How could I forget to get her number?!_

"Well, if things keep happening the way you say they are, you'll see her tomorrow somewhere, and you can get her number then!" Harry said encouragingly.

John talked to his sister for a bit longer, before she ended their conversation, claiming to be tired and needing to go to sleep early since she had a long day.

John pocketed his phone and went to the sink, pouring his cup of tepid tea down the drain and rinsing the cup out. Then he ambled to his computer and booted it up.

The first thing he did was find a florist with online ordering. He was a man of many talents, including sending women proper bouquets of flowers, and Molly Hooper deserved one for putting up with his irritation, grief, swearing, and tears (some of which happened at dinner the night before).

After the flowers were ordered, he went through the news and checked his e-mail.

Then for the first time since the suicide, he logged onto his blog.

He opened a new post, and his fingers hovered over the keyboard. _'If I'm not chasing criminals, what's the point of keeping this blog?'_ He stared at his first sentence for several long seconds, and then he erased it and started again. _'I met a brilliant woman on the tube a few days ago.'_

And suddenly, John had a lot to say. He typed as rapidly as he could, his mind moving faster than he could write. But the relief of being able to just write and write and write was near crippling.

He wrote until he couldn't write any more. He covered numerous topics, including his current feelings and beliefs on Sherlock, on his strained relationships with his friends, with the woman he met on the tube, with his boring and dull flat, and his aching leg. There were several swear word filled sentences on the weather and his lack of action in life, but as he leaned back in his chair, he felt better.

Once he reread the post, he saved the draft because he wasn't ready to share his feelings with the world yet, and moved back from the table.

"That was cathartic," he said to no one. He stood up from the table and surveyed his flat.

It was…_sad_. It had three rooms; an open lounge area and kitchen, a bathroom hardly bigger than a cupboard, and his small bedroom with its small wardrobe and the world's most uncomfortable single bed. The walls were white. The floors were dark wood. And there were zero decorations; no pictures of him or his family and friends, no books or shelves, no decorative pillows or afghans, not even a clock on the wall. Just the small telly he took from Baker Street.

"It's time to make some changes," John said, glaring at the back of his sofa. "I'm not spending the rest of my life like this, or else no woman will want to spend time with me."

He went into the small cupboard by the front door and searched for a notebook and pen. When he found what he was looking for, he sat down on his sofa and began making lists.

* * *

As John eased himself into bed later that evening, he spent a few minutes reflecting on his day. It didn't follow his typical Saturday routine, especially the surprise date at the deli with Mary Morstan. And even his afternoon in the cemetery went better than expected.

The tremor that always persisted in his hand after visiting Sherlock didn't reveal itself that day; in fact, he felt more at ease that afternoon than he had felt in a year and a half. Instead of brooding and moping and drinking beer, he spent the entire afternoon with a woman who was genuinely interested in him, and he was definitely interested in her. She was cheery and funny and kept his mind a float and his mood…chipper. Then he came home and made the third most important decision since the funeral (the first being moving out of Baker Street and the second being obtaining a job) which was easily summed up in a two words: _stop grieving_.

"You're getting better, John Watson," he muttered to himself, as he stretched out on his bed, pulling his blankets up and crossing his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, thinking of his busy day tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: I just finished my outline for this story, and I'm so excited for it! It's been a _loooong_ time since I've worked on a multi-chaptered story, and this is my first one involving Sherlock! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. It means a bunch to me!

Thanks again!

-Janet


	4. Candy Canes

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Four: Candy Canes

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

_Coffee._

_Breakfast._

_Shower._

_Order online photos._

_Tea._

Once John completed his morning tasks, he put his boots on, coat, grabbed his wallet and cane, and left his flat. Shoved in his trouser pocket was his list for shopping. The snow that fell the day before was already melted and slush, so John was careful as he walked about to the tube station.

Even though he wasn't heading in the direction of the clinic, he kept his eyes out for a woman with short blonde hair and a knit hat. Every time he saw her, she was wearing a different colored hat, but she always wore the same coat.

He wasn't going to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed that he didn't see her on the tube, but no matter! He was a man on a mission today, and not seeing Mary Morstan wasn't going to ruin that!

He kept a tight hand on his cane as he got off the tube and made his way above ground.

He missed going to Tesco, believe it or not. He hardly did enough shopping to survive, and most of it was done at the off license or the shops by his flat. Tesco reminded him of buying the shopping for two people, and for a long time that bothered him.

And today, he wouldn't let it bother him.

* * *

John pushed along his trolley, unsure where he wanted to start first. When he went to bed the night before, he had several sheets of paper with numerous items on them, but that morning he condensed it down to one sheet, front and back, with tiny writing. He pulled the list from his pocket and examined it. He had three separate headings, AROUND THE FLAT, GROCERIES, and CHRISTMAS THINGS.

Considering most of Tesco was set up for Christmas, John made his way over to the first aisle he saw of Christmas decorations, and began shopping.

He imagined he was doing his shopping like Mrs. Hudson, who had enough decorations for her flat and 221B. He didn't buy in bulk, but he did buy similar items. He spent a great deal of time looking at candy canes, which was a bit odd, but they came in literally twenty different flavors.

After contemplating four different varieties, he stuck with his gut and purchased the original peppermint flavored ones.

The rest of his shopping for CHRISTMAS THINGS was easy, and he even found a new Christmas jumper, which he added to his cart without hesitation.

As he made his way over to fresh groceries, he began mulling over the idea of having a small Christmas get together at his flat.

"I may have made an error in judgment," John grumbled, looking at all the bags in his trolley.

"I can help you, Sir."

John glanced at the young man who put his bags in the trolley. He already commandeered it, ready to push it wherever it needed to go. John arched an eyebrow. No one ever tried to help him with his shopping before. And definitely no stranger ever called him Sir. Then he realized the kid probably saw his military ID when he was opening his wallet.

_Getting invalided does have benefits, I guess_. John smiled at him and nodded his head once. "Thank you. I've got to hail a cab."

It wasn't too hard hailing a cab. By the time he stepped out of Tesco, it was afternoon on a Sunday. There were cabs _everywhere_.

The young man helped John put his bags in the boot of the car, and John offered him a kind smile and a fiver for helping him. The boy accepted it, smiled, and took the trolley back to Tesco. John slowly slid into the backseat of the cab, glad to be sitting because he was tired. He gave the cabbie, a surprisingly young woman, his address, and leaned back in his seat.

"Long day?" she asked conversationally.

"A bit, yeah. I haven't done proper shopping in ages." He sat up and met her gaze in the mirror. She smiled kindly at him, and for the duration of his trip back to his flat, they talked about the upcoming holidays, plans, and Christmas.

What was more surprising than having pleasant conversations with his cabbie was that she stopped the vehicle, turned it off, and helped him carry his bags to his flat.

John felt like he was in an alternate universe as he paid for his ride and gave her a generous tip for helping him.

Once his groceries were put away, he turned on the kettle, waited for his tea to brew, and then threw himself on his sofa. Decorating and making his flat more "homey" could wait until his leg stopped aching and he felt a little less tired.

In a matter of minutes, his tea was forgotten and he was fast asleep.

When John woke up about an hour later, he was a bit peckish, so he had a sandwich and crisps. After rinsing his plate and washing his hands, he attacked his first "Home Makeover" task.

Putting pictures in picture frames. He pulled the pictures he printed at Tesco out of one of the numerous bags sitting near his sofa, and picked up the two bags full of frames, and moved to his table. He worked slowly, going through the pictures and ignoring the pangs of pain in his chest. His hand trembled minutely as he looked at a photo of him and Sherlock, and he carefully put the 8x10 in a frame.

One by one he filled frames until he had ten to set up on the empty shelves lining one wall of his lounge. They were built into the wall, and when John first moved there seven months ago, he hardly felt the need to unpack his belongings to decorate. His books and knickknacks stayed firmly in the storage cupboard by his front door, and he had no intentions of filling the space…at least until yesterday.

Sherlock, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly were featured on the first two shelves, and also Harry and his parents and grandparents. He had one empty frame left sitting on his table, and he was hopeful that maybe he would go on a date or two or a million with Mary, and on one of those dates she would be willing to be photographed so she could be displayed on the shelves too.

The next project was assembling the lamp he purchased.

Then John took a break to rest his leg and sorted through the rest of his shopping.

By the end of the evening, his flat looked more like a home instead of a hotel room. Photos and books lined his shelves, he rearranged his lounge with a bit of difficulty, using his sofa to separate the lounge from the eating and cooking areas of his flat. He cleared an area in the corner of the room for a Christmas tree.

John stood in the middle of the room, surveying his flat once again. This time he had a huge grin on his face. He pulled out his mobile and took a panoramic picture before sending it to his sister with the caption, _'Better than last time.'_

He felt moderately confident that if he brought Mary back to his flat, it wouldn't be embarrassing. Then he turned slowly and looked down the short hallway towards his bedroom and bathroom. "I'll need to buy better sheets and one more pillow. And the loo needs a good scrubbing." He glanced at his watch and laughed.

It was getting late. And he had to work early. He rubbed a hand over his face and then went to the front door, locking it.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for a moderately short filler chapter. The story from here on out gets better! Thanks for reading and reviewing as always!

-Janet


	5. Christmas Tree

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Five: Christmas Tree

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

_"Hey John, it's Lisa from the clinic! Sorry for phoning you so early this morning, but I just wanted to inform you that the clinic is closed for today. Water damage from the melting snow caused some electricity issues which will take most of the day to fix! I hope you enjoy your extended weekend!"_

John flopped back down into bed, cushioning his head on his single pillow. He clutched his mobile phone in his hand and smiled tiredly at the ceiling.

An extra day off would do him some good.

_After I wake up from my lie-in!_

When John woke again closer to 10:00AM, he rolled to his side, checked the clock, and then sighed. Sleeping in that late would probably wreak havoc on his sleep cycle. He forced himself to roll out of bed and with his cane clutched tightly in his hand, he made his way to the bathroom.

After showering and eating a light breakfast, he once again donned his boots, coat, and scarf and left his flat.

He was going back to Tesco to buy a tree.

* * *

John walked around several trees trying to decide what his best option was. He wasn't actually going to spend the holiday at home. He was going to Harry's Christmas Eve and staying through Boxing Day. They made plans to visit their parents and grandparents for the holidays.

He finally decided on a "Western Pine Christmas Tree". It was six feet tall and came with lights. According to the box, after he read and scrutinized every inch of it, it took less than two minutes for assembly.

John shifted his weight and then eyed the aisle, looking for someone to help him maneuver the box from the shelf into his trolley. After a moment of not seeing anyone and knowing he wouldn't be able to do it on his own, he took his trolley and began looking at ornaments.

With two boxes of gold and silver generic ornaments in his trolley, he returned to the trees. He chewed his bottom lip and began to contemplate how he could get the tree into the trolley without hurting himself when he heard, "John Watson?"

He turned automatically, his brain recognizing the voice even though he hadn't heard it in more than a year. "Hey Greg." He smiled tentatively as Lestrade strode towards him, his basket clutched tightly in his hands.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

John shuffled his feet and leaned against his trolley, taking the weight off his leg. "I've been a bit…uhh…busy, I suppose. I've been working at a clinic. One of two doctors, a pretty regular schedule."

"Must be different than before then?"

"Yeah, a bit. A lot less murder happening, for sure."

They both laughed and then John looked down in his cart. He had long since forgiven the Detective Inspector for his role in Sherlock's suicide; he was honestly just doing his job. He knew Sherlock would have admonished John for thinking that the man could have done anything else.

"So you're shopping for a tree?" Lestrade asked, after clearing his throat.

He nodded his head in response. "It seems like every employee is currently avoiding me right now, though," John admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Could you help me lift this into the trolley? I can't quite do it with the leg…"

"Sure!" Lestrade set his basket down on the floor, and with his assistance John managed to get the box into his trolley.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, and then Lestrade reached down for his basket. He was stiff for a moment as he stood upright, then he said, "You want to get a drink sometime? The Pub isn't that great when you go by yourself."

The Pub was their pub that they frequented after working together on cases. When John and Lestrade first discovered it, it was on accident; the pub was off Baker Street in a shabby looking complex near a crime scene. The pub didn't even have a real name, hence the reason why they called it "The Pub". But their best bitter was a favorite amongst locals and the food was great. John and Lestrade had good times there; pints and good food was shared, and more often than not either complaining about Sherlock or praising his brilliance. And the man himself joined them a few times, nursing one pint while John and Lestrade had quite a bit more. Sherlock never drank to get inebriated, but he did have a drink sometimes out of social necessity.

There weren't any bad memories about that place.

"Want to get lunch? I could go for their chips and steak."

"_Steak_?" Lestrade asked incredulously. "Are you an Englishman? You want fish and chips!"

John laughed, and the two men went towards the chip and pin machines to pay for their purchases. Lestrade offered to store the tree in his car and then drive him back to his flat after their lunch so he wouldn't have to struggle getting a cab and carrying it inside.

Once the two of them had settled into a comfortable silence in the car, Lestrade drove towards The Pub.

* * *

John was crying, leaning heavily against his seat and wiped tears from his eyes as Lestrade retold a story he hadn't heard before about Sherlock and Anderson's first meeting. He could hardly breathe he was laughing so hard, and Lestrade was struggling even finishing the story, because he kept laughing.

"And then—and, and! Sherlock was so dumbfounded! He couldn't—John! He couldn't even look at Anderson!" Lestrade gasped for breath and wiped a hand under his eyes. "Anderson managed to lose not only his car, but Sherlock's coat to an _old woman_! The case wasn't even a four under today's scale! And Sherlock never forgave him!"

They guffawed for several minutes, gasping for breath and crying. As they settled down, John smiled widely. _Why has it taken me a year and a half to remember the good times?_ He nibbled at his now cold chips and sipped at his beer. "I always knew Sally and Sherlock didn't get along because he was a right dick towards her most of the time, but I always assumed it was the same with Anderson. No wonder Sherlock insulted his IQ so much!"

Lestrade shook his head. "But I can admit that Anderson got better with Sherlock's help. He is now one of the best people we have on forensics."

John nodded his head and contemplated his beer for a moment. Then he raised it and said seriously, "To Sherlock."

"To Sherlock."

They each took a sip of their beer and not wanting to dwell in silence, John asked, "Anything new around the Yard, then?"

Lestrade nodded his head. "Sally will probably get a promotion in the next few months."

"Good for her!"

"Yeah, she's a hell of a Sergeant and she'll make a brilliant Inspector."

"And you?" John prodded after a moment of silence.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I was relegated to desk duty and demoted for six months after…" he sighed and rubbed is face. "But things got so rough on the streets that when I was reinstated, they gave me my old job back but I was on probation for another six months. One toe out of line and they were going to make me a permanent office worker." He shuddered and shook his head. "It took over a year to get back into the Chief Superintendent's good graces."

"Me punching him in the face probably didn't help."

Lestrade chuckled and drained the rest of his beer. Surprisingly they each only had one, having too much fun retelling old stories and new ones to even get a buzz. "Ready to head out? Food's cold and you'll never convince me to eat this stuff cold."

"Sure." They each pulled several bills from their wallets and left it on the table to pay for their drinks, meals, and tip their server.

Driving back to John's flat was uneventful and Lestrade managed to carry the tree by himself and John carried his other bag with decorations in it. Once inside, John showed Lestrade where to place the box and then he went to his fridge. "Want a beer?"

"Oh God yes!"

* * *

John had a surprising evening in with Lestrade, setting up his tree and decorating it as the Detective Inspector informed him on the goings on with his life (he was officially divorced as of a year ago) and his new flat. They shared Chinese takeaway, beer, and watched an old football match that was on the telly.

It seemed that Lestrade might have been a bit lonely without running after Sherlock and John.

As the football match was ending and they were picking at the remainder of their takeaway, John asked, "Do you have plans for the holidays?"

He shook his head. "Working, probably."

"Well, since I've tidied up the flat and decorated for Christmas, I thought about having people over. Maybe you…and Mrs. Hudson of course…" His brow furrowed and then he grinned, "Molly Hooper as well!"

"You've been talking to Molly?"

"Just a bit." John lifted an eyebrow and inquired, "Something going on between you two?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Lestrade spluttered, turning a bit pink in the cheeks.

"No! No, we've ahh…I mean, no. We've gone out a lot in the past year and a half for lunch or pints after shifts, but it's clear…always been that way, actually, that she loves Sherlock. She's like…I'm very protective of her." And suddenly Lestrade narrowed his eyes at him. "Have you and her…?"

"No!" John said, shaking his head. "She's attractive and brilliant and all, but yeah. She and Sherlock…" He trailed off and frowned slightly before sighing. "Besides, I have a…friend? Friend, right now."

"A _friend_?"

"Yes. We met on the tube and have had lunch and I know a bit about her, but I don't have her phone number and…it's odd actually." John relayed his initial meeting and reactions of Mary Morstan to Lestrade.

It was nice to actually have someone to talk to about this. And Lestrade offered looking into her when he went to work the next day, but John shook his head. "We already met under the weirdest circumstances; I don't want to come off as a freak by having my mate who happens to be a Detective Inspector look her up. I'll wait until I run into her again. It's bound to happen at the rate we've been meeting."

"That actually does sound a bit creepy." He stretched his arms over his head and sighed. "I better get going. My shopping has been in the car all day and I have to work in the morning."

"Alright." They spent a few minutes cleaning up their dinner, rinsing dishes and putting their trash in the rubbish bin. Then John followed Lestrade to the door and leaned on his cane. "It was great seeing you today."

"Likewise."

"Maybe we can have lunch again sometime? I have lunch at the same time every day so I can send you a text to see if you're free."

"That sounds great! See ya later, John."

"Night Greg."

When his front door was shut and locked, John ambled over to his table where his computer was sitting, and plopped down in it. He checked his e-mail, saw that the clinic would be opening at the regular time in the morning, and then went to his blog.

He spent the rest of his evening reminiscing about his friendship with Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes, and the people he met along the way.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I didn't post yesterday! I'm hoping to play catchup soon! Thank you for reviewing. I'm going to attempt to answer reviews now! :)

Thank you for reading!

-Janet


	6. Angel

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Six: Angel

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

* * *

_"Sorry to wake you little brother—"_

"Harry, I am older than you."

John shuffled out of his bedroom, leaning on his cane as he went straight to the kitchen and filled his kettle.

_"Johnny, just listen."_

"'m listening," he grumbled.

_"On the 11__th__, my support group for AA is meeting in London for dinner at this posh restaurant to celebrate sobriety. Care to show your little sister around town for the day? Or at least let me kip on your sofa for the afternoon?"_

"The 11th?"

_"It's this Sunday."_

John rubbed his hand over his face and tried to think. "I don't think I have anything planned Sunday…Are you going to stay over?"

_"Yes!"_

"That's fine."

_"Sleepover with the little brother!"_

"I'm going to hang up on you if you keep calling me that." He sighed exaggeratingly and Harry laughed. "When did you become such a morning person?" He moved slowly to get his mug, leaving his cane to rest against the wall.

_"Sobriety does that to you. Annoying, isn't it?"_

John rolled his eyes. "I definitely prefer sobriety."

_"Me too! Well I'm off! I have errands to run all day and I need to get a train ticket. I've still got a spare key so I'll let myself into your flat. And I'll be there early…early enough to make breakfast. Definitely before the sun is up."_

"Looking forward to it." John couldn't but smile. He hadn't seen his sister in person since she helped him move into this flat.

_"Thanks Johnny!"_

"You're welcome, Harry."

As his water began to boil, he heard the alarm in his bedroom go off. He wasn't too upset about losing five minutes of sleep, but he was irritated that he had to cross his tiny flat in order to turn off the alarm.

After he returned to the kitchen area and settled in at the table to drink his cup of tea, he went to the bathroom to take a shower. As he was waiting for the water to heat up, he stared at his reflection for a moment, and then smiled.

Going on the tube on a school day definitely increased his chances of running into Miss Mary Morstan.

* * *

John wasn't ashamed to admit as he sat in his seat on the tube that he was disappointed that he didn't run into Mary. He had been convinced that he would see her that morning and had taken special care in his appearance as he was getting ready.

_Maybe I'll never see her again and I've missed my chance._ John gripped his bag tightly and tried to ignore the ache that was rippling up and down his leg. When it was time for him to get off, he hobbled out of the train and made his way to the clinic.

It was cold outside, but at least the snow melted. As he was walking with his hands shoved in his pockets, he kept his eyes out for a woman in a dark colored coat and a hat.

No such luck.

Once at the clinic, he was surprised to see the door unlocked and the office quietly humming with life. Lisa the receptionist was already there, sipping at coffee and working at the computer. "Morning, Lisa. Early today?" he asked, leaning against her desk.

Lisa nodded her head. "I'm working on all the appointments we need to reschedule from yesterday. More than likely both you and Doctor Brown will be working on Saturday. And you have two extra patients this afternoon. I've put the list on your desk already."

"Thanks!" John said, turning towards his office

"You're welcome," Lisa said. "And Doctor Watson?" John turned around, and Lisa was suddenly grinning at him brightly, her eyes twinkling. "There are scones and coffee in the kitchen."

John smiled and nodded his head before going to his office.

He paused outside the locked and closed door for a second, and leaned on his cane.

Taped right in the middle of his door was a paper angel. It was cut out of a piece of music. He turned his head slowly and looked behind him. Lisa was watching him, her smile still in place. "Okay…" he said, taking the paper angel off his door. He then unlocked and opened his office and stepped inside and went straight to his desk.

He sat down slowly and pulled out his laptop, opening it. As it was booting up, he looked at the paper angel again_. Is Lisa just ready for Christmas?_ This was his first holiday at the clinic, so he wasn't certain how eager the receptionist was at decorating and celebrating the holidays.

He turned the paper angel over and felt his heart stop for just a second.

_I've traveled all over London the past  
two days in hopes of seeing you. That  
was silly of me. Call me, Doctor Watson!_

_-Miss Mary Morstan_

And written at the bottom of the note was her mobile number.

John was certain there was nothing that could wipe the grin off of his face.

There was a knock at his door and he looked up to see Lisa with a few scones and coffee. "I've brought you breakfast so you don't have to parade around the clinic grinning like a maniac while everyone else is sick!"

He blushed but couldn't stop smiling. Lisa stepped further into his office and placed his breakfast on his desk. "She seems like such a pleasant woman. I wish I could have talked to her longer, but she had to run off and do something for her job."

* * *

He didn't call her.

Mostly because he wasn't sure what her teaching schedule was like and he didn't want to disrupt her classroom, and partly because he was certain his voice was going to crack. _For someone with the nickname John "Three Continents" Watson, I can be a giant boy when it's inconvenient. _

But he sent her a text right after he finished his second breakfast.

_Got your note. Lunch?—Dr. JW_

He felt like a teenager as he checked his phone all morning between patients. He almost felt bad for his cheerful behavior that morning when literally everyone coming in had some kind of flu, but he couldn't help it.

Right before lunch, he finally received a response.

_Tuesdays are a bit different than the rest of the week for me. I have to take a later lunch. Tomorrow, perhaps? At the shop where you bought the hot chocolate?—Miss M_

_Sounds great! See you tomorrow! :) —Dr. JW_

Things couldn't get better!

* * *

John leaned against the wall, waiting for his leftover Chinese from the day before to heat up. He was tired; his day at the clinic ended three hours later than usual. Between extra patients at the end of the day and an unusual number of walk-ins, he was bogged down with paperwork that needed completed before he left the office.

He was startled out of his stupor when he heard his phone ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that he had a text message from Mary.

_I believe you would look nice in green. Do you agree?—Miss M_

He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he typed out his response. _I do have some nice green jumpers.—Dr. JW_

_Excellent!—Miss M_

_May I ask why?—Dr. JW_

_No. See you tomorrow, Doctor Watson!—Miss M_

_Okay, then. Tomorrow!—Dr. JW_

He tucked his phone into his pocket and removed his leftover takeaway from the microwave. Butterflies were erupting in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Mary tomorrow, so he had to force himself to eat slowly and drink water when he was finished.

Then just like he did when he was sixteen years old, he went straight to his bedroom and sorted through his clothes. He had to wear something to the clinic that was appropriate but also nice enough for a lunch date.

And it had to be better than what he wore today.

It didn't take him long to select a pair of black trousers, a green button down, and a gray jumper. He carefully pressed his shirt and trousers, then hung them up along with his sweater on the back of his bedroom door. Satisfied with his decision, he changed into his pajamas and ambled to the sofa and switched on his television.

Crap telly before bed, because the monotony of terrible television always made him tired, and he was wide awake due to excitement and nerves.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Thank you for reading and reviewing this chapter!

And just an FYI, there is a possibility that I won't update tomorrow. I have a job interview that I scheduled today for Thursday and I really want to prepare for it, which might mean ignoring my fanfiction for the day. But I have exactly zero plans this weekend, so I should be able to write and catch up (and hopefully double post on Saturday or Sunday so I can finish this by Christmas!)

Thanks again, everybody! :)

-Janet


	7. Pie

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Seven: Pie

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

* * *

John could hardly contain himself as he slipped on his coat and zipped it carefully. It was bitterly cold outside, but he didn't care, because he was finally having his lunch date with Mary Morstan.

With a quick smile at Lisa the receptionist, he stepped out of the clinic and made his way to his normal lunch spot.

He tucked his head down and shoved one of his gloved hands into his pocket, wishing he could walk a little faster.

His morning had gone terribly slow. He woke up a full hour before his alarm, his body humming with energy. With the hour he wasn't anticipating, he cleaned his bathroom, made a breakfast that consisted of eggs, bacon, and toast, had coffee and tea, showered, groomed and dressed meticulously and nearly ran to the train.

Then when he got to the clinic, there were cancellations for most of the morning, so John just worked on paperwork and helped Lisa with filing because his only other option for most of the morning was cleaning his already spotless office.

Lunch was definitely the highlight of his day.

John burst into the small shop and closed the door behind him quickly. Then he looked up to see Mary sitting at a table, nursing a cup of tea. There was a steaming mug sitting across from her, and he moved towards her as quickly as he could.

"Hi," he said brightly, taking off his coat and placing it on the back of his chair.

"I ordered tea, hope you don't mind! And I think I remembered how you take it," Mary said, pushing the cup closer to him. John took a sip of it and smiled at her, relishing in the warmth spreading throughout his body from the hot drink.

"Perfect."

They smiled at each other a bit shyly, and Mary looked down, studying her cup. "How has your week been?" John asked.

"It's been busy! I go to school early and leave late. My students are a bit restless and distracted. They're ready for the holidays." She smiled at John and asked, "And yours?"

"Totally boring and dull," he responded, winking at her. He enjoyed the light blush that covered her cheeks. "This is actually the highlight of my day—possibly the month, actually."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I have plans of seeing you after today!"

Their lunchtime conversation went smoothly, and John could feel himself falling more and more for Mary, especially as their lunch came to a close and she presented to him a green knit hat and matching scarf.

"I've never seen you with a scarf or hat, and it is cold!" she said, carefully wrapping the scarf around his neck and patting his chest lightly. John slid the hat onto his head and leaned against the table.

"How do I look?"

"Like a warm doctor!" She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He blamed the warmth that was flooding his face to the fact that he was a little too warm. Once again he was feeling bashful as he slipped on his coat and clutched his cane.

They left the shop with smiles on their faces, and a few times on the short walk to the clinic, their hands brushed together.

"Well, this is me…" John said, pausing outside the clinic. He shuffled his feet a bit and leaned on his cane, hoping he was acting as nonchalantly as possible.

"Can I see you again? Maybe dinner this weekend? I'm afraid I've got meetings the rest of this week during my lunch and I'll be taking the tube much earlier than usual so we can't meet on the train."

John nodded his head, saying, "Sure! I'll text you about it later?"

"Okay!" Mary said brightly.

For just a few moments, they stood awkwardly outside the clinic. Then John leaned in and pecked her cheek just as she did in the shop. "I'll see you around, Miss Morstan."

"I'll hold you to it, Doctor Watson."

* * *

Traffic was terrible.

That wasn't a surprising fact for someone who lives in London, but John was seriously regretting taking a cab instead of the tube. If the temperature wasn't so bitterly cold and his shoulder wasn't aching something terrible, he would have suffered through the cold walk to ride the train.

John scrubbed his hands over his face and grimaced. They weren't making any headway on their journey at all; in fact, John realized they were on the complete opposite side of town that they needed to be on. "Christ! We're by Speedy's. I'll never make it home at this rate…" he grumbled, glancing at the building to his left.

"Just stop here. I'll just—here is fine!" John called, digging his wallet out of his coat pocket. He handed over money to the cabbie and then stepped out of the vehicle, only to stand right in front of 221 Baker Street.

He felt a lump in his throat; he hadn't been back to this place since he moved, and he could feel the memories that he locked away seeping into his brain. He desperately wanted to ignore them because he was doing so well, moving on from Sherlock's death, and this would only be setting him back!

John stepped out of the street and onto the pavement. He stared forlornly at the building that used to be his home, and frowned.

"Just because I have memories of this place doesn't mean I can never come back!" he said softly, his features softening. "I have good memories. I'm allowed to remember the good times."

And with that, he walked up to the door and knocked on it.

He was not expecting the reaction he received upon the door opening.

Mrs. Hudson literally threw herself at John, wrapping him up tightly in her arms and squeezing him. John had no other option but to wrap his arms around her and hug her in return. They stood that way for several seconds before Mrs. Hudson pulled away.

"It's so cold, John Watson! Come inside, come inside." She nearly dragged him inside, and after shutting the door behind him, she ushered him into her flat.

John hardly spent a second looking up the stairs leading to 221B before Mrs. Hudson had him through her flat and into her kitchen. She indicated that he needed to sit down, and he did gratefully, his leg twinging with pain.

He smiled tightly at Mrs. Hudson as she began pouring him tea. She made it just the way he liked it and set the mug down in front of him. After taking a sip of his soothing brew, he felt the tension that had tightened the muscles in his shoulders loosen and his smile turned more genuine.

And then Mrs. Hudson placed a heaping serving of steak pie and warm chips in front of him. "I'm sorry I'm all out of vinegar, but I do have ketchup!"

John stared at the plate, and then he looked up at Mrs. Hudson. "Did you know I was popping in for a visit?" _Because I didn't even know I was popping in for a visit._

"No, silly man," she said, smiling at him and squeezing his shoulder. She dished her own plate and carried it to the table, passing him the ketchup. "I was trying out a recipe Mrs. Turner from next door gave me. I was going to cut the recipe in half so I wouldn't make so much, but then I decided I could have leftovers for a few days, and I _am_ expecting Molly tomorrow for lunch, so we'll probably have this too. But fresh chips. I do hate leftover chips. Now eat up!"

John couldn't help but laugh and dig into his food.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson happened to have one of the comfiest sofas he'd ever had the pleasure to sit on. He could feel his eyes drooping as she chatted beside him, catching him up on her life. She hadn't been up to much, but she had been seeing the man who owned Speedy's for a bit. But that ended weeks ago. And her sister was fine and her nieces and nephews were doing well, and she had two great nieces and one nephew on the way, all three due sometime after the New Year.

And evidently Mycroft became supremely sentimental and was paying the rent for 221B Baker Street, leaving Sherlock's things as John left them when he moved out. With the exception of his binned experiments and discarded body parts, everything was left the way it had been the morning of the suicide. John perked up at this; he expected the unfeeling Holmes brother to be indifferent about…well, pretty much anything that had to do with Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, John," Mrs. Hudson said, patting his leg. "It might seem like Mycroft Holmes didn't care one way or another about Sherlock, but he was his brother, you know. In the end, it's family that we have."

"That's true," John murmured, his mind briefly thinking of his sister who had been instrumental in his recovery and grieving.

"And you're family to me too, John Watson!" Mrs. Hudson squeezed his leg again. "I would like to see you more."

And suddenly John felt guilty.

Sherlock Holmes was like a son to Mrs. H., and after his death, John had barely stuck around long enough to make sure that the older woman was alright.

"None of that!" Mrs. Hudson reprimanded firmly, smiling at John. "You had your own grieving to do, young man. I might be an old woman, but I'm not made of glass. Now come here," and she wrapped John firmly in her arms once again. John sunk into her embrace and held on for a few moments.

She patted his head and pulled away. "It's very nice to see you dear."

"Always," John paused to clear his throat. "Always great to see you, Mrs. Hudson."

She smiled at him, and then slowly stood up from her spot on the sofa. "I know you weren't planning on visiting for this long, but I just didn't want to let you go after a few minutes. Would you like to take home some steak pie? I'll just put some in a container, and you can eat it for lunch tomorrow!"

* * *

Even if he wasn't posting on his blog, John was finding that writing made it easier to understand and sort through his emotions.

After spending a huge chunk of his evening writing, he saved the blog post and then made tea. As he settled in with his mug in front of the telly, he couldn't help but think that it was getting time to close this most recent chapter of his life, and start a new one.

He had a woman in his life that meant very much to him even though he had only known her a week. He wasn't sure how this happened, because his most recent long term relationship was with Sarah Sawyer, and he hadn't felt for her as he felt for Mary Morstan.

He had a sister who has been sober for a year and has been involved in his life for the first time since they were teenagers, and it was fantastic. He hadn't realized how much he missed their relationship over the years.

He had friends like Molly Hooper and Greg Lestrade who were really good for him, constantly cheering him up and reminding him that he wasn't just a _blogger_. And Mrs. Hudson was a surrogate mother for him, and he couldn't live without her.

And his best friend was dead.

John paused in his thinking, realizing that that was the first time he thought that without crying. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he took another one. "My best friend is dead," he whispered, staring into his mug. Other than a bit of an ache in his chest, he didn't feel that overwhelming crush in his body or the desperate need to sob uncontrollably. "My best friend is dead…and…I'm at peace with that. He was a great man…a good man. Sherlock Holmes was a _good _man."

With a sigh, he stood up and dumped his lukewarm tea down the drain. As he shuffled off to his bedroom, he picked up his phone and realized he had two text messages, both from Mary.

_'You really do look ravishing in green!'_ and _'Goodnight, John.—Mary x'_

He smiled and sent her a text. _'I only looked ravishing because of you! And goodnight, Mary!—JW'_

It wasn't until he was in his pajamas and already bundled up in his bed that he realized he left his cane at Mrs. Hudson's.

* * *

A/N: Friends, followers, and readers, sometimes life is just not fun. If you remember the last time we met, I had a job interview I was prepping for! Well, my car broke down on the way there, so I didn't make it. And then I've been working a ton at my retail job getting ready for Christmas and stuff, so I just haven't had the energy to write lately.

I'm currently seven chapters behind, but I vow to finish this by Christmas! Thank you for the reviews, for the well-wishes with my interview, and for generally being really cool people!

Tomorrow, for sure, I'll be double posting, probably once early in the morning, and then once in the evening! Until then!

-Janet


	8. Tinsel

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Eight: Tinsel

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

* * *

Walking to the clinic without his cane was exhausting.

John swore colorfully beneath his breath as he unlocked the door to his office and stepped inside. It was much too late when he went to bed to call Mrs. Hudson, and much too early to call her when he woke up, so he made do getting ready for work and leaving his flat to ride the tube without his cane.

It wasn't that his leg was unstable without the cane, but he was tired by the time he reached the clinic. For a year and half, he was dependent on that cane, and now without it…

But to be honest, he didn't feel _that_ terrible without it. When he thought about it, his leg ached, but when it was pushed to the back of his mind, like when he was sorting through the files on his desk and checking his e-mail, it didn't bother him much.

"Maybe this is part of my new chapter, too," he muttered to himself, sighing and standing up, needing a cup of coffee before starting his day. "And obviously talking to myself out loud is becoming a habit that needs to be a part of my life as well." He paused by his door to hang up his coat, very carefully removing his green scarf and green knit cap.

* * *

It ended up being a rather slow day in the office again, and John was glad that Mrs. Hudson sent him home with steak pie for lunch, because that meant the farthest distance he had to walk was to the small kitchenette.

During his lunch he stayed in his office, absentmindedly looking over paperwork.

He was startled from his thoughts by a knock on his door. He quickly wiped his mouth and said, "Come in!" He wasn't expecting anyone that afternoon, especially during his lunch.

"Doctor Watson, would you mind helping me with the Christmas tree after your lunch?"

John quickly picked up his lunch containers and followed Lisa to the empty waiting room, and there he spent the rest of his lunch and most of the afternoon decorating the tree with his receptionist and the other doctor.

_Who knew being so festive was such fun?_

* * *

_How did I get sucked into doing the shopping for the clinic? _John leaned on his trolley and examined the short list that Lisa supplied him with. They really needed tinsel for the tree, but also tea, sugar, plastic spoons, and coffee.

In the past week, he's had three visits to this particular Tesco, and he was wondering if the employees would start recognizing him by name.

With a sigh, he ambled over to the Christmas decorations and began shopping for the silver tinsel Lisa wanted for the tree. He found it easily, adding it to his trolley and then making his way over to the coffees and teas.

He was comparing two brands of coffee when he heard a soft laugh and then, "I can't believe it!"

He was smiling before he even turned around. Mary Morstan was standing behind him, a huge grin adorning her features.

"Did you forget how ravishing I look with this hat and scarf?" he asked, arching a brow.

"Oh, I could never forget that," she said with a giggle. "I just can't believe…" She shook her head, and John laughed with her. Then he tilted his head slightly and asked, "Are you almost done with your shopping?" Her basket was filled with fruits and pencils.

Mary nodded her head. "I am, actually. A woman can't go long without fruit and pencils." She saddled up beside John and watched as he picked his coffees and teas. Luckily the sugar packets everyone in the clinic favored were in the same aisle, and the two walked together to find the spoons.

"Do you really need all those pencils?" he asked, tossing the spoons into his trolley. He glanced at his list one more time.

"I need a pack for home, and the other seven are for my students. My budget is tight at school, so I have to provide my own materials sometimes." She shrugged her shoulders. "But if the kids need to write something in their music, I'll always have a pencil ready!"

"What exactly do you teach? I know you're doing music." Mary sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Touchy subject?" he asked.

"A bit, yeah. I teach orchestra and band during the school day, and on Tuesdays during my lunch and after school on Thursdays, I teach choir. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I teach private lessons for clarinet and voice after school. I have seven private students currently." She exhaled noisily and John stared at her wide eyed.

"You do _all_ of that?"

"This year, yeah. Last year, I just did band and orchestra. But when the budget was cut at the end of last term, the voice teacher quit and my school decided not to hire on anyone else, so I do it all."

"And what years do you teach?"

"From year seven and up."

John whistled low and shook his head. "And I thought I had a stressful job as a doctor!"

Mary laughed and shook her head. "I mean, I like it! Don't get me wrong. Seeing kids appreciate and learn and love music makes this stress worthwhile."

"I commend you, Miss Morstan."

Mary blushed and lowered a gaze. John could see that the hardworking teacher didn't often receive praise for what she did. "Are you hungry? I could really go for pizza. Unless you have planning or something to do this evening?"

Mary shook her head. "I could use pizza _and _a beer."

John smiled widely at her. "Excellent!"

* * *

"So what days of the week are you free?"

"Friday nights, I don't have anything to teach."

"Really?" John asked, leaning closer to her. "Then can we have our first official date tomorrow?"

Mary smiled brightly at him and nodded her head. "I would love to have our first official date tomorrow."

They were in a cab, their first destination being Mary's flat. They had pizza and beer not far from Tesco and easily hailed a cab to take them home. In the backseat, there was more than enough room for them to have their own space, but John and Mary found that having their bodies pressed closely together was a better option.

"Great. Dinner at a real restaurant and not any of the places we've frequented in the last week, and a film?"

"I can look up what's playing tonight, and I'll text you." Mary began gathering the few bags that were placed between her knees. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"You will, definitely."

As they pulled to a stop in front of Mary's flat, she hesitated for a half a second. "You don't have your cane today…"

"No, uh," he said, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "I was visiting my former landlady and somehow forgot it at her flat. I should probably pick that up tomorrow sometime." He ran a hand through his hair and stared out the window. "I hope that doesn't—I mean I'm not some actor or whatever, I actually do need it—" John was silenced by a kiss on his cheek.

"I just thought you were getting better, that's all. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I am getting better," John said quickly.

"That's good. Well, I better be off, the meter's running." Mary climbed out of the cab and was in the process of searching for her wallet when John held up his hand. "It's alright. It won't be much of a difference by the time we get to my flat. Tomorrow, then?" He scooted towards the door and leaned out, pressing a kiss to Mary's hand.

He reveled in her choked gasp and giggle.

"Tomorrow," she repeated, before closing the door softly and stepping onto the pavement. John watched her watch the cab drive away, and he didn't turn around in his seat until she was well out of his vision.

* * *

John placed his shopping by the door, just as an extra precaution to ensure that he wouldn't forget it at home. A whole day without his cane left him leaning on the walls a bit for support as he made his way to his bedroom. He stripped immediately, tossing his clothes in his hamper and making note that he needed to do his laundry at some point that weekend. Then he put on his pajamas and sat down wearily in his bed.

It wasn't late, but with warm comfort food and beer in his belly, he felt sleepy.

Before crawling into bed, he called Mrs. Hudson. She didn't answer her phone, but he left a voicemail, asking if she would give him a ring during his lunch. Once that was settled, he couldn't even bother to brush his teeth. He just carefully stretched out in his bed and pulled his blankets up to his chin.

He was out like a light.

* * *

A/N: Hello! I'm a wee (by like 9-10 hours) late with this first update of the day, but that's alright, because at least I'm posting! :)

Chapter Nine will be posted before I go to bed. I have some editing and a goal of starting and finishing Chapter 10 and starting Chapter 11 before bedtime! Thanks for all the reviews the last time...which I'm going to answer now!

-Janet


	9. Ice Skating

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Nine: Ice Skating

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

The first thing John noticed as he approached the clinic the next morning was the black car parked across the street. For a split second, he was reminded of all the times he was kidnapped for one reason or another by Mycroft Holmes, but then he ignored it.

He hadn't seen hide or tail of the elusive elder Holmes in nearly the year and a half that Sherlock had been gone. There was no reason for the Holmes man to show up outside his place of employment.

He pushed the thought from his mind and turned to unlock the door. As he was shoving his keys back in his pocket, he felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned around.

"Mrs. Hudson thought it was imperative that you get this back."

So it _was_ Mycroft Holmes. "Thank you Mycroft," John said brusquely, turning back to the door. "Good day."

He entered the clinic and closed the door behind him.

Despite his ability to forgive Detective Inspector Lestrade over his contribution with Sherlock's suicide—_he was just doing his job after all_—Mycroft's involvement was unforgiveable. He sold out _his own brother_ for nothing more than secrets that hardly mattered in the end. He knew that no matter what Mrs. Hudson said, Mycroft Holmes didn't care _enough_ about Sherlock, or else his younger brother wouldn't have been put in the position he was in in the end.

John needed his cane that morning as he made his way to his office. He immediately hung up his coat, ever gentle with the green knit scarf and cap, and went straight to the kitchenette, digging out the coffee and tea from his bag and filling the kettle. He desperately needed a strong cuppa that morning.

He was once again startled from his thoughts by his phone ringing. He didn't even check to see who was calling him, expecting it to be Mrs. Hudson returning his call from the night before. He tried to keep his voice from sounding gruff as he said, "Hello?"

_"Sorry for not texting! I had a hectic night and an even more chaotic morning, and I figured calling you would be quicker even if it meant getting your voicemail! Sorry, rambling, I know. How do you feel about rom-coms?"_

John sagged against the counter and rubbed his face with his free hand. He could feel a smile tugging at his mouth and he exhaled slowly. _"Hello? This is Doctor John Watson, right? Have I called the wrong number—"_

"No, it's me!" John said quickly, chuckling. "I don't mind rom-coms."

_"Oh thank God! Because someone thought it would be a great idea to release several horror films that I'm not too keen on seeing. Bad morning, I take it?"_

John nodded his head even though she couldn't see it. "I had a visitor…Sherlock's brother. We don't get along."

Mary was quiet for a moment, and then she murmured, _"Will you be alright?"_ Her voice was laced with concern, and John was trying to figure out how he was so lucky to know this woman, even if it was only a mere nine days.

"Umm…" He exhaled one more time and then straightened up, using the cane for additional support. "I'll be alright."

_"Well, if you need anything, let me know, okay?"_

John smiled. "I will. Thank you, Mary. Really."

_"It's nothing. I just hate the idea of some rotten sod bothering you."_ At that, John laughed, and he was pleased to hear Mary's laugh as well. _"Alright, well, I have to go. I need to study a bit and prep for my first lesson of the day."_

"I'll see you tonight, then?"

_"Right! Dinner first, the film is a later showing. Do you want to share a cab? I can text you my address."_

"Yes. I can pick you up around…"

_"Seven would be perfect."_

"Seven it is, then!"

After ending his call with Mary, John suddenly felt like he didn't need that strong cuppa anymore.

* * *

John was relieved to have a much busier day at the clinic than the past few days, because it made the day go by quickly. He was eager to leave and prepare for his evening with Mary, and Lisa the receptionist took notice as he left his office, bundled up and ready to go as soon as the last patient of the day left the examining room.

"Hot date tonight, Doctor Watson?" she asked, eyeing him up and down as he was nearing the exit.

He turned around and smiled. "Actually, for the first time in what feels like years, I actually have a hot date tonight!"

He left the clinic with a spring in his step and laughter following him.

The tube was crowded on his way home, but John didn't mind, especially since a young man who looked to be in university gave up his seat so John could sit.

Despite his day starting out with an unwanted visitor, it quickly morphed into a beautiful and wonderful December day.

John was grinning as he walked home, stepped into his flat, and leaving his cane at the door. His gait was a little stiff, but that didn't stop him from laying his coat, scarf, and hat across the back of his sofa as he immediately began undressing, ready for a quick shower and the necessary grooming before his "hot date".

Clean shaven, showered, and wearing minimal cologne, John took special care in picking out his outfit. He felt a bit ridiculous spending so much time on picking his clothing out this past week than he had in his entire adult life. But dating, even though he hadn't done it in a while, was something that he did well. And picking clothing to wear on a date was part of his dating routine.

It didn't take him long to decide on jeans, a dark blue button down shirt, and a black jacket. He added black shoes and a black belt, and considered his outfit complete.

All he had to do was get dressed.

He had just enough time to hail a cab and get inside, knowing he was going to get to Mary's with just a few minutes to spare. As he sat in the cab, tapping his fingers against his knee, he could feel the anticipation coiling in his stomach. After several lunch dates, surprise run-ins, and numerous flirtatious texts, he was finally going on a date with Miss Mary Morstan.

* * *

"You look wonderful," John said, staring wide at Mary as she opened the door to her flat to greet him. She was wearing a simple high cut gray dress that ended at her knee, black leggings, and a black cardigan, which was a huge difference compared to her regular working attire.

She blushed at his compliment and opened the door wider, inviting him inside. "Thank you," she said. He didn't get past the foyer, Mary only needing to don her coat and scarf.

"All set?" John asked as he helped her into her pea coat.

"All set!"

Once again, they sat close together in the cab, sharing quiet conversation. John was surprised when the cab stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant; he was so engrossed in their conversation that he actually forgot they were traveling somewhere!

Mary paid for the cab this time, claiming that she owed John for the night before. He grumbled about it, but didn't fight the matter much; he knew he could pay for the return trip back to Mary's flat.

"I hope you don't mind Italian. I love this little place."

"I don't mind it, actually," John said, following Mary. "If you really enjoy Italian, I know this little place Sherlock and I used to go to all the time. Best everything, really."

Mary hesitated outside the door and looked at John. "I—I would like that a lot."

"Good. Great." John smiled widely. He felt comfortable about slowly opening up to her.

Mary smiled at him for a moment before John pulled the door open for her and she stepped inside.

The man waiting behind the small podium saw Mary and smiled at her brightly. "Mary! I'm happy I get to see you this evening!"

"Hi Henry!" Mary kissed him on the cheek and then introduced the man named Henry to John. "John, this is Henry, my sister-in-law's brother!"

Henry stuck out his hand and John shook it, surprised by the firm grip. "We have your table ready, and I may or may not have already ordered our best wine on the house for you this evening. As is your meal."

"Henry! Every meal has been free!" Mary protested.

"Well, you give my daughter clarinet lessons for free, so it's only fair," he said grinning, showing them to their table.

After ensuring that the couple was happy at their location, Henry left to resume his duties elsewhere. "I forgot to mention," Mary said, pouring herself and John a glass of wine, "that my sister-in-law's brother owns this restaurant and demands that I eat here monthly and for free every time."

"I definitely cannot complain about free!"

* * *

"You played clarinet in school?"

"I did, yes."

Mary grinned broadly. "Do you sing?"

John scratched the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. "I mean…in the privacy of my own shower or flat or when I know no one can hear me."

"I bet you have a lovely voice." John blushed more, and Mary leaned closer. "In a few weeks, I'm going caroling with a group of my students! If you don't have plans, you should tag along."

"Maybe…"

"Now I've made you uncomfortable! Sorry!" She took a sip of her wine, grinning as John laughed and shook his head. Before he could say anything, Henry appeared over Mary's shoulder.

"I'm not kicking you out, I promise. I just wanted to inform you that it's 9:30 and—"

"It's 9:30 already?" Mary exclaimed, and John glanced at his watch to confirm, his brow raising high. "John, our film started at 8:45!"

John laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, we obviously missed out on that one."

"It is a bit warmer tonight than it was last night. Go for a walk around London!" Henry suggested, picking up the plates and cutlery from their table. Mary looked from Henry to John, and John nodded his head. He had his cane, even though he didn't particularly feel like he needed it that evening.

"A walk sounds fine."

After saying goodnight to Henry, John and Mary walked out of the restaurant side by side and began their walk in the direction of a park. For a few minutes it was quiet, and John found himself glancing between the clear sky (which was unusual in London) and Mary.

Soon they found themselves circling around an ice rink. Shrieks and laughter and music surrounded them as they made their first lap around it.

"Do you ever ice skate?" Mary asked.

John shook his head. "Not with my leg, no."

"Oh. Sorry." She glanced away from him, and John felt the need to reassure her.

"Even before my injury, I didn't really care for it. My sister on the other hand, loves it. Can spend hours twirling and skating and what have you on the ice." When Mary didn't say anything for a moment, John reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

He never let go.

"Do you like to skate?"

"Yeah. My parents live on a bit of land with a pond, and we skate and drink hot apple cider and eat cookies. It's a lot of fun. This year we're getting together the day after Boxing Day."

They were quiet again, and on the second lap around the rink, Mary pointed to a bench a bit secluded in the park. Without a word, they walked towards it. They sat down slowly, their fingers still linked together.

"Can I ask you a question?" Mary asked.

John stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed. Just earlier, he felt comfortable talking about anything with this woman. He nodded his head and squeezed her hand in encouragement.

"You were injured while on duty?"

John nodded his head again. "In Afghanistan, I was shot in the left shoulder while performing surgery after a roadside bomb. It did quite a bit of damage and I was invalided and sent back home."

"And your leg, if you don't mind me asking?"

Self-consciously, John ran a hand over his thigh. "It's a mental thing, actually. Psychosomatic, I guess. When I'm stressed or upset or something along those lines, it aches ferociously and I can hardly support my weight. That's why I use the cane." He squeezed his knee once and then finally met Mary's gaze. "But yesterday, I told you it was getting better, and it has been."

"Your mental thing is getting better then?"

"Yeah," John smiled at her warmly. "Strangely enough, I met this beautiful blonde on the tube and almost followed her to work like a freak. My leg's been hurting less since then. I even went a whole day without it."

"Oh," Mary breathed, and John saw her eyes widen for a moment, before she looked away. Worried that he may have revealed too much of his personal thoughts, he tried to backtrack to safer conversational territory. He opened his mouth to speak, but then Mary regarded him carefully. "I'm…I'm touched that this gorgeous woman has helped you in some way."

"Me too," John whispered.

* * *

John walked Mary to her door.

"I had a great evening," Mary said, pausing in front of her door.

"I did too." John shifted his weight a bit, not wanting to let go of her hand. "I want to see you again on another real date, if that's alright with you?"

"Perfect."

"Sunday?"

"Also perfect."

"Dinner? My sister is going to be in town, so I'm going to spend the day with her, but she has dinner plans so I'll be free."

Mary thought for a moment, and then she nodded her head in agreement. "I'll get all my planning and prep for Monday done during the day."

"Great! We can have Chinese this time? I don't want us to get burnt out on Italian."

"I love Chinese."

John couldn't help himself when he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to her cheek, perhaps his aim a little close to her lips. When he pulled away, his eyes flickered from her lips to her eyes, and he smiled at her blush. "Goodnight, Mary," he murmured.

He saw her swallow and open and close her mouth for a moment, her eyes fixed on his lips. After a second, she looked up and whispered, "Goodnight, John."

It took a moment for John to step away and successfully drop her hand. Then he turned and went back to the waiting cab and climbed in the backseat. When he looked out the window, Mary was still standing by her door. She offered a small wave, and John returned it.

On his journey back home, John was pleased with himself. His "hot date" was a major success, and he was glad he had a second date in two days, because he couldn't get enough of this smart and beautiful woman.

* * *

A/N: Second posting for tonight! Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and liking this story, as always! :)


	10. Frost

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Ten: Frost

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

John was floating on cloud nine.

It didn't matter that he had a busy day at the clinic, making up for missed appointments from Monday.

It didn't matter that his window was covered in frost because the temperature dropped.

In all honesty, it didn't even matter that he slept very little because…well, because of floating on cloud nine.

Even when Lisa picked at him and teased him for being so out of his mind happy, he couldn't even fake a grimace.

Life was superbly perfect at the moment, and it would take something akin to a natural disaster to destroy his mood.

And what made his Saturday even more fantastic was that his shift was over by noon, because the other doctor was in with him, and they went through their patients rapidly. He was out of his office by 12:30, and was only just walking towards the tube when he was stopped by someone shouting his name.

"John Watson! Fancy a pint?"

He looked up to see Greg Lestrade pulled over, his head sticking out of the window. If he wasn't mistaken, Molly Hooper was sitting beside him in the passenger's seat.

"Yes, I'd love a pint!"

And just like that, John was sitting in the back of Lestrade's car, grinning like a fool.

* * *

"Is there a reason the two of you are aiming to get pissed before 1:00?"

John, Molly, and Lestrade occupied a booth in the corner of a small and empty pub. John was watching as the two people across from him knocked back their pints quickly, as if they were being timed.

Lestrade answered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just finished a bloody terrible investigation and I'm rewarding myself with a weekend off and pints with this woman, who saved my arse and basically solved the case."

John lifted an eyebrow and looked at Molly. She blushed beneath the combined compliments and scrutiny and looked at the table. "I don't want to talk about the case."

"But she was brilliant!" Lestrade said, sliding out of the booth. "Another round?"

Molly nodded her head energetically, but John declined, nursing his own beer. He had a feeling he'd be driving Lestrade and Molly home before the end of the day.

As Lestrade meandered over to the bar, John took the time to observe Molly. She looked exhausted, dark circles smudged beneath her eyes, but she was smiling at him now. "How are you?" he asked.

"Exhausted. I've basically been living in my office for two days with Sally Donovan." She fiddled with her cup and sighed. "But the case is done, I'm drinking and with friends, and I don't have to work the rest of the weekend, so I'm fine."

"And," John said, sipping at his drink, "how have you been since I saw you last Friday?" He remembered her bout of crying over her grief and he wanted to make sure she was alright.

"One day at a time…" Molly murmured, offering a smile to John, but he could see it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've been really stressed with work—this case has been brutal—and I haven't had much time to…evaluate my…feelings on Sherlock so…" she trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

John had the distinct feeling that Molly wasn't being honest with him, but he let the matter slip. Grief made people do things they wouldn't normally do, and he was certain she wasn't self-medicating or hurting herself, so he let the matter drop for now. His main goal was to get her to smile and to see the grin reach her eyes.

He nodded his head, ending the conversation when Lestrade returned to the table with two more pints. "I ordered enough fish and chips to feed a small army, so I hope you're hungry!"

"Great! I'm starving!"

They fell into easy conversation after that, and John tried not to focus too much on Molly's small form across from him. She perked up a bit when after their third drink (and the end of John's first), Lestrade asked, "So how's your friend? The woman you were telling me about the other day?"

"Oh! Mary?" John said, trying to act nonchalant. He smiled at Molly and said, "I met a woman on the tube. She's a music teacher. Bloody brilliant and perfect and I guess we're dating. Nothing…official. We've only been on one official date—"

"Official?" Molly asked, lifting a brow. "What's an official date?"

"This bloke here met this woman and they've been seeing each other without actually going on dates."

Molly still looked skeptical as she turned her gaze from Lestrade to John. John just laughed and said, "I've seen her six or seven times in the past ten days, but we've only been on one date, and it was last night! We've had lunch and texted a bit, but you know…" He shrugged his shoulders, not sure what else he wanted to say.

"Tell me about her!" Molly asked. And John could see a hint of the old Molly Hooper peeking through her exhausted exterior. He leaned closer to the people across from him and began describing Mary, their official and unofficial dates, and his incident without his cane.

* * *

John forgot what it was like to manhandle a grown man, but he somehow managed to get a clearly pissed Lestrade into the backseat of his car. Then he helped Molly into her spot in the front, and then crossed over to his side of the car.

He had to do a bit of adjusting to the mirrors and the seat, but other than that, he was comfortable driving Lestrade's car.

"Can you even drive?" Lestrade asked, launching himself between Molly and John. John raised an eyebrow and said,

"Put your seatbelt on." He glanced at Molly. She was already struggling to click her seatbelt. "And of course I know how to drive. There just isn't a point to do it all the time when there are perfectly good cabs, busses, and trains to take around London."

Lestrade grumbled as he threw himself into the backseat and put on his seatbelt. John could distinctly hear him complaining about how he was an officer of the law and didn't need to listen to "bloody army doctors who think they're so cool".

John just tried not to laugh.

It was even harder as Molly tried to have a conversation while also adjusting the heat settings, her coordination a little off. They hadn't even pulled onto the road, and John had a feeling this was going to be a very interesting car ride.

He wasn't wrong. Between the pub and Molly's flat, Lestrade and Molly were reduced to tears at least three times as they laughed and tried to tell jokes to John. He didn't quite understand their jokes, but laughed because their delivery while intoxicated was hilarious.

Once at Molly's flat, John instructed Lestrade to stay in the car, and he happily complied. Then he helped Molly out of the vehicle and to her home. Navigating the stairs was a bit difficult, but Molly was light and not nearly as hard to man handle as Lestrade, so they managed.

John had to unlock Molly's door for her, and then he followed her as she stumbled inside, nearly tripping over her cat. "Toby!" she squealed. "You're prolly hungry…"

"I can feed him if you want me to do it," John said.

"Thanks!" Molly promptly threw herself on her sofa, and John went into her kitchen. After briefly exploring, he found a small tin of cat food and opened it. The cat was trying to eat before John got the tin on the floor. Then he filled his water bowl.

When Toby was set, John filled a large glass with water and left it on the counter. Then he went to her bathroom and rummaged around for paracetamol. He left the bottle beside the glass and then went to Molly. Before he could ask her if she was going to be alright for the rest of the day, his eyes were immediately drawn to a very familiar violin that was resting on her coffee table. "W-why do you have that, Molly?" he demanded. All of Sherlock's belongings should have been locked up in the flat.

Molly opened her eyes and first looked at John, then she followed his gaze to the instrument in question. She sat up slowly and for a moment she was quiet. Then she said, "Oh _bollocks_."

"Molly?"

"I—I stole it." She was wringing her hands together and refused to look John in the eyes. "I saw Mrs. Hudson on Thursday and I just—I just—don't hate me. I can play Twinkle, Twinkle on it!" She was reaching for it when John snapped from his surprised stupor and carefully stopped Molly from picking up the instrument.

"Maybe when you're sober?" he said, laughing lightly. "And I could never hate you Molly," he said firmly. "People do…we do silly things, don't we?"

Molly looked lost in thought as she replied a few seconds later, "Yes we do…"

After a moment, John remembered that Lestrade was still sitting in the backseat of his car. "Alright, I have to go Molly. Make sure you drink plenty of water—" He stopped as she suddenly procured two bottles of water from between her sofa cushions. "Okay. That's perfectly normal." She just grinned at him. "Anyway, drink that, and sleep. You'll feel—"

"I am a doctor, you know."

John nodded his head. "Of course. Text me if you need anything." He took a step away from her sofa. "Really, Molly, anything. If you need to talk or vent or what have you, I'm always here."

"Thank you John." Molly stumbled from her couch and launched herself at John, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "You're a good person, John Watson."

John chuckled and patted her back. "You are too, Molly Hooper."

She shook her head, but didn't say anything else. At the moment, she was smiling genuinely at him. "I'm very happy you met Mary. She is good for you."

John just nodded his head and Molly slowly dropped her arms. "Get some rest, Molly."

Molly returned to her sofa, and once John was certain she was alright, he left her flat and returned to Lestrade's car.

* * *

"Thank you so much. Brilliant afternoon. Glad you didn't crash my car. Gonna be a great night. Football!"

Lestrade all but threw himself onto his sofa, kicking off his shoes and reaching for the remote on his coffee table. John just shook his head and went into the kitchen, getting a large glass of water and digging around in his drawers until he found paracetamol. He returned to the sofa, and Lestrade sat up enough to drink the entire glass before flopping back down. John left the paracetamol but refilled the glass and grabbed a second one just in case.

When the Detective Inspector was comfortable and watching an old football match, John dropped his car keys onto the table beside Lestrade's phone, and bid his farewells before leaving.

He had just enough time to catch the tube back to his flat.

When John got home, he was full of fish and chips and he didn't really want to do much, but he knew he had to get things ready for his sister's visit the next day, so he set to work.

First he collected his spare pillow, duvet, and sheets, and folded them beside his sofa. Then he started his laundry, knowing he needed fresh towels and clean pajamas for the week.

He was glad he cleaned in his bathroom on Wednesday morning, because all it needed now was a quick wipe down. Then John set to work cleaning up his kitchen, checking his groceries, and making a quick grocery list and sticking it to the fridge with a magnet .He made a note to go grocery shopping after work sometime that week.

As he switched his laundry from the washer to the dryer and put in a load of towels, he realized he should give his sister a call before she arrived the next morning.

_"Johnny!"_

"Hey Harry! I'm just checking in. You're still coming tomorrow, right?"

_"Correct! I'm actually packing my bag right now! I'm so excited to see you…little brother!"_

"You're about two seconds away from sleeping outside Harriet!"

_"Jonathan Watson! Don't you dare threaten me!"_

John laughed at how convincingly she sounded like their mother. He began filling his kettle as he said, "Okay Mum."

_"I'll be there early. But don't wake up for me, alright? I've got a key, and you need your rest."_

"Believe me; I will be enjoying my lie-in tomorrow."

_"Great! Well, I'm sorry I have to cut this wonderful phone call short, but I have laundry to finish."_

"Yeah me too! Wasn't expecting a lengthy conversation tonight. I'll see you in the morning."

_"Night Johnny."_

"Night Harry."

John shoved his phone in his pocket and waited for his water to boil. It was still relatively early, but he could feel himself getting into what his sister used to fondly call, "bedtime mode". He was making tea, contemplating changing into his pajamas, and settling in front of the television.

If he went to bed too early, he wouldn't be able to enjoy his lie-in. So John turned off his kettle and focused on finishing his laundry and getting everything ready for his sister's visit the next day.

* * *

A/N: Hello! First posting for today! Thanks for reading! :)


	11. Eggnog

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Eleven: Eggnog

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of Noddy Holder's music.

* * *

The first time John woke up the next morning, the sun wasn't even out yet. For a few seconds he tried to figure out what woke him, because his alarm was definitely turned off. Then he recognized the sound of his shower running.

He panicked for just a second, thinking a burglar broke into his flat to shower, but as the fog from sleep began to clear, he realized that it was probably his sister.

He flopped back into bed and pulled his blanket over his head.

_"So here it is Merry Christmas! Everybody's having fun! Look to the future now, it's only just begun!"_

John didn't bother opening his eyes to glare at his sister who was standing in his doorway. "I hate that song!"

"Oh come on! It's the number one Christmas song in the United Kingdom!"

"Noddy Holder can suck a—"

"Such language, Johnny! You aren't always this grouchy in the morning."

"You know full well, Harriet Watson, that I detest that song." Regardless of his hatred for the song and subsequent annoyance at his sister for singing it first thing in the morning, he opened his eyes. Harry was already out of his room, and he could hear her singing different Christmas carols as she wandered around his tiny flat.

With a grumble, John got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face to wake himself up more and then he made his way to his kitchen area, where he could smell fried bacon. His stomach grumbled.

Harry was sitting at his small table, sipping from a mug. John regarded his sister carefully.

Sobriety had really done Harry Watson good. Her complexion was clear, her eyes shined more brightly, and she looked a lot younger. She was also in better shape, and John knew that was due to the fact that she picked up a cycling class a few weeks into her sobriety as a distraction. Her blonde hair was currently braided but he could see that it was getting long again, the braid ended just passed her shoulders. Instead of looking like someone he didn't know, she now resembled him, just as she had when they were younger.

"It's good to see you in person," Harry commented, placing her mug on the table.

"Come here," John offered, opening his arms. Harry all but leapt from the table and wrapped her arms around her brother, squeezing his tightly. It was odd getting hugged by someone who was so much taller than him. Every time he saw her, the height different felt like it was expanding exponentially.

"You look so much better," Harry said, pulling away from him. "I'm so proud of you."

"And I'm proud of you. Sober for how long?"

"One year and six months tomorrow, actually."

John smiled so widely at his sister, he was sure his face was going to break. Harry hadn't been able to stay sober for longer than two weeks at a time, even when she was with Clara, and now to see her sober for a year and a half made his heart swell with pride. She managed to pull herself together and focus on getting better while helping him get better, and he knew he would be in debt to her for the rest of his life. The first few months after Sherlock's death were downright horrible, but it could have been a lot worse without the support of Harriet Watson.

"Stop it!" Harry said, quickly wiping tears from her eyes. "Mum and Dad already make me cry on a weekly basis. Not you too!"

"Sorry, sorry," John said, patting her shoulder. "What's for breakfast then?"

"What isn't for breakfast is the better question?"

* * *

"Your flat is so…Christmas-y! I love it!"

Harry was standing in the middle of his lounge, looking around. The curtains were drawn and his Christmas tree was lit.

John watched her a moment before looking around. It took him a moment to see the single stocking hanging on the wall. It was filled to the brim with presents. "Did you do that?" he asked.

"Well, Mum was adamant about the stocking, and Dad and I decided we might as well fill it so it didn't look so sad on your wall. And you've got a few presents beneath the tree." That was the first John noticed the three gifts wrapped beneath his tree. Harry sat down on the sofa. "I can hardly move! Why did we eat so much breakfast?"

"You're the one who made enough food for a family of four." John sat down on the other end of the sofa and laughed as Harry curled up on her side and held her stomach, complaining that her insides were going to burst.

When Harry nestled into the sofa and stopped complaining, she looked at John. "So…your flat is decorated, you've been hanging out with your friends and your landlady, and you've got yourself a girlfriend."

"Yes." John picked at imaginary lint on his pajamas.

"You're not…as lonely as you were before?"

John cleared his throat and kept his gaze trained on his hands. "This has been the best week of my life in over a year. I don't know if I'm less lonely, but I'm definitely in motion to get there. And Mary helps. She's something I can focus on that isn't work, and she likes me! A bloody invalided army doctor who has more baggage and depression and grief than a lot of regular blokes in London."

John didn't look up until Harry prodded him with one sock covered foot. "Anyone would be lucky to have you, Johnny."

"Shut up," John said playfully, shoving her foot away. Harry chuckled and then sat up on the couch.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then Harry said rather dramatically, "Is there anything to do in his town? Seriously, we're sitting inside your flat on Sunday instead of exploring London? Take me out! Show me the sights! Let's go to Big Ben and the Eye and the Thames and I don't know…whatever else newcomers do in London for the first time!"

"You expect to see the whole city before your posh dinner?" John already got off the couch and began ambling towards his room, intent on changing out of his pajamas.

"Yes! Definitely! Hurry up!"

When John reached his bedroom, he checked his mobile and laughed hard at the text message from Lestrade.

_'I feel like shit. Take me out of my misery.'_

John responded with a few remedies to ease his hangover, and then he texted Molly to see if she was alright.

She didn't answer, but he had a feeling that the poor girl was still sleeping.

* * *

_'Don't stay out too late, little brother. Your curfew is midnight!'_

John could almost hear his sister laughing in his mind as he read her text message. For the entirety of their journey exploring London, Harry refrained from commenting on their height difference, but John knew it was too good to be true. _'Shut up.'_

The cab pulled to a stop outside the Chinese restaurant, and John hopped out, paying for his ride. He was meeting Mary at the restaurant, only because she lived about a block away.

He stepped inside and he saw that Mary was already seated. He smiled at her and she waved. He felt a jolt in his gut at her smile, and he walked as quickly as he could towards her. She stood to greet him, and he didn't miss the opportunity to kiss her cheek.

"Hi."

"Good evening, Miss Morstan," John said, taking his seat.

"So how was your day with your sister?"

John had to refrain from rolling his eyes. "She's been to London hundreds of times, and yet she forced me to drag her to all the major sights. But it was fun. I haven't ogled Big Ben in quite some time." They both laughed, and then John glanced down at the menu. He already knew what he wanted, but he always looked through the menu regardless.

Only a minute or so later, a waiter appeared at their table and asked for their drink orders. John was certain he didn't want to consume alcohol while his sister was visiting, so he ordered a water and Mary did the same.

Just as Mary asked John about what is sister was like, they had an impromptu shower.

The sprinklers went off, dousing everyone in the building with very cold water. There were shrieks and sounds of broken glasses echoing around the restaurant as people were startled out of their dinner conversations. It didn't take long before everyone was hurriedly being ushered out of the building and into the very chilly December night air.

Evidently there was a fire in the kitchen.

Over the course of just a few minutes, all of the guests were ensured that they would get a free meal once the restaurant opened again, but for the meantime it was closed.

Mary wasted no time in grabbing John's hand and pulling him in the direction of her flat. "It's freezing and we can't be out here soaking wet!"

John clutched his cane beneath his arm, and he and Mary had a brisk jog back to her flat. His teeth were chattering by the time he stepped into her foyers and Mary closed the door behind him. "Here, take off your coat and hang it up! I'll grab some towels."

After John hung up his coat and toed off his soaked shoes and socks, he carefully stepped further into her flat. He hardly took in her décor, going straight to the radiator that was alongside one wall and holding his hands over it. His clothing was soaked and he desperately wanted to get warm.

"I've got towels and—I can get you something to wear."

John looked over his shoulder to see Mary with towels in her arms, standing just past a hallway that he assumed led to her bedroom and bathroom. "That would be great, thanks."

Once dry and wearing a pair of black tracksuit bottoms and a white sweatshirt that had the name of a local school, which John assumed Mary worked, John and Mary found themselves standing awkwardly in her sitting room. Mary had also changed from her black skirt and jumper and into a pair of red and gray plaid flannel trousers and a plain red sweatshirt after she tossed John's clothes and socks into the dryer.

"Well…I've never had a date end like that before!" Mary said with a nervous giggle.

"End? It hardly started!"

Mary shrugged her shoulders and said, "Want to have a night in, then? I've not got much, but we can have grilled cheese sandwiches and fruit."

John laughed, remembering all the fruit Mary purchased at their chance meeting at Tesco. "That sounds…perfect."

John followed Mary into her small and neat kitchen. Together, they worked on making their grilled cheese sandwiches, and John cut up a few apples to go with their simple meal. They laughed and talked as they cooked, and eventually they found themselves eating their still piping hot sandwiches at her small table.

"Are you thirsty?" Mary asked, after they finished. "I guess I should have offered you something before we ate…" She stood from the table and went to her sink, picking two cups from the cupboard. "I have some pretty decent eggnog in the fridge we could sip, I guess. There's a bit of alcohol in it, and I know you don't want to bother your sister…" John watched her a moment as she contemplated their drink options, and then he got up from the table.

"Mary?" he asked, stepping up behind her. She hummed and turned around, leaning against the sink. John closed the distance between them and carefully cradled her face between his hands. He spent just half a second hesitating, and then he did what he's wanted to do for days.

He kissed her.

* * *

Cuddling on the sofa after snogging between sips of eggnog for most of the evening was not how John thought his second "official" date with Mary was going to end, but he wasn't going to complain. Mary's legs were thrown over his lap, and she was resting her cheek against his chest, tracing the letters on his sweatshirt.

"I like you a lot, Miss Morstan," John whispered. He took a deep breath and then added, "I know we just snogged like teenagers for most of the night," at that, Mary chuckled, but her fingers stilled in their tracing. John took the opportunity to cradle that hand gently. "But I honestly like spending time with you, and if it's something you're interested in, I'd like to keep seeing you."

Mary pulled away from him so she could see him clearly. "There is nothing in the world that I would like more than to be your girlfriend, Doctor Watson." She pressed her free hand into the back of his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him.

It wasn't much later when both Mary and John were trying to stifle yawns. They each had to work the next day, which meant an early morning and a long day. They disentangled from each other slowly, and John gathered his dry clothes from Mary and folded them, not bothering to change. He called for a cab, and then he and Mary spent a few glorious minutes back on her sofa, snogging.

"We are teenagers," Mary said. She pulled away from John and stood up. John followed suit and got his cane, making his way over to her front door. After he donned his coat, he pulled Mary close for one last goodnight kiss.

"When will I see you again?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. The tube definitely. And lunch?"

John nodded his head and kissed her again. She giggled and pulled away. "We'll never end the night if every statement is finished with a kiss."

"I'm not complaining."

"I'm not either…not really." This time Mary gave him a kiss, and then they were both laughing.

"Goodnight, Doctor Watson."

"Goodnight, Miss Morstan."

John opened her door just as the cab pulled in front of her flat. "Text me when you get home."

"I will."

John nearly skipped from Mary's flat to the cab, and once he was seated in the backseat and told the cabbie his address, he allowed himself to smile brightly. His commute was moderately quick, and as he was walking into his flat, he texted Mary that he was home safe.

Then he was met with Harry.

She was sitting on his sofa, legs crossed, back in her pajamas.

And she was smirking at him.

"That is not what you were wearing when you left the flat, Johnny."

John rolled his eyes but sat down on the edge of his sofa, knowing he couldn't stay up too late. "You won't believe what happened at the restaurant not five minutes after I got there."

Harry laughed as John explained the fire, and then she smiled warmly when he told her of their simple dinner and great conversation. He smoothly skipped over the more private details of his evening, but by the waggle of Harry's eyebrows, he knew she was close to teasing him.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good evening."

"And I suspect you had one as well?"

Harry smiled and nodded her head. "I had a great evening, and I may or may not have flirted my way through most of dinner with a wonderful woman named Hannah!" She stretched her legs out and then curled up on the sofa. It was getting late, especially for someone who woke up and traveled early that morning. "But really, it was a great night! I had zero temptation to drink, even though they were serving alcohol close by. It was…nice."

John stood up from his spot on the sofa, allowing Harry to stretch out fully across the furniture. He easily leaned over and ruffled her hair. "I really am proud of you, little sister."

"Thank you. That means a lot, big brother."

"Want to get breakfast in the morning? I know you're planning on leaving pretty early."

"Sounds great." He could hear Harry stifling her yawn, and he took that as his cue to get ready for bed.

After saying goodnight, John quietly made his way to his bathroom and brushed his teeth. Then he went to his bedroom and spent a moment contemplating whether he wanted to change into his pajamas. He decided to just sleep in his borrowed clothing, knowing he would have to wash it and return it later.

Once again, John Watson was floating on cloud nine, and he fell asleep easily.

* * *

A/N: I'm super sorry about not posting this last night! I accidentally fell asleep while doing the final edits, and then I was too groggy to get online and go through the process of posting a new chapter! Thank you for reading, and there is a possibility you'll see two more chapters today! At least, that's the goal! (A day off from the retail job means a day spent writing!)

-Janet


	12. Cider

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Twelve: Cider

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

John woke up earlier than usual the next morning, quickly hopping into the shower and freeing up the bathroom so his sister could get ready. As John was waiting for her to finish in the shower, he packed his laptop up and put it in his bag, and then snatched his shopping list from the fridge. He didn't have much to eat in since he and Harry devoured all of his food for breakfast the day before, and he had no plans after work so he figured he might as well get a bit of shopping done.

When Harry stepped out of the bathroom and began packing her overnight bag, John took the time to brush his teeth and do final checks on his appearance.

After they were both dressed and ready for the day, they left his flat and walked to a small coffee shop around the corner from where he lived. When they reached the building, John called ahead for a cab to pick Harry up at shop, not wanting to waste time on trailing to hail one that early in the morning.

John paid for their scones and coffee, and Harry picked a table for them to sit.

"Thanks for breakfast," Harry said, sipping at her drink.

"You're welcome," John muttered, as he spread strawberry jam over his scones, and wrinkled his nose at Harry's cherry and raisin scones. He already commented on them being much too sweet for that early in the morning when he purchased them for her.

He watched her as she rested her head in her hands. Evidently, she wasn't as much of a morning person when she had to be awake before the sun rose. They sat in a companionable silence, eating their scones and drinking their coffee.

As time went by, John couldn't help but think about how much his relationship with his sister had changed over the course of a few short years. By the time he left for Afghanistan, they weren't on speaking terms, and the only reason why they spoke occasionally after he was invalided was because their parents forced it upon them. Fast forward to now, and he felt like they were as close as they were growing up.

"I swear to God, Johnny, if your make one more tear fall from my eyes, I'm going to pour this scalding coffee into your lap."

John blinked once and shook his head to focus. Then he frowned playfully at his sister. "Don't tell me what to do."

She flicked a raisin that she pulled from her scone at him, and John scowled even more. She just laughed at his reaction.

They resumed their quiet breakfast until it was close to the time Harry had to leave. Then they bundled up, and John followed his sister outside. They only had to wait a moment for the cab to pull up, and then John ushered his sister into the warm vehicle with a hug and a kiss on a cheek. "I'll see you Christmas Eve," John said, stepping back from the cab. Harry nodded her head.

"See ya later, big brother!"

She closed the door, and John watched as the cab drove off.

It was a bit bittersweet to see his sister leave, especially since he would have liked to spend a bit more time with her, but he knew in two weeks he would see her again for the holidays, so he just shook off the feeling.

Instead of leaving right away for the tube, John turned back around and went into the coffee shop. He noticed on their winter menu, they had a hot caramel apple cider, and figured Mary would enjoy the small pick-me-up.

Purchasing the hot drink and waiting for it took longer than John expected, and he had to walk quickly to not miss his train.

John smiled to himself as he slipped onto the train and spotted Mary sitting on a seat with her bag in an empty space beside her. She must have fought her way to get a seat and have the chance to save one too. It didn't go unnoticed when she brightened up at seeing him, and her smile brightened when she realized each hand was holding a hot cup and his bag was slung over his shoulder.

_Ahh…no cane! I didn't even think about it this morning._ He quickly closed the distance between them.

"Good morning! Saved you a seat!"

John slid into the seat beside Mary and kissed her good morning. Her shy smile after they pulled apart had his stomach twisting in knots and he had to refrain from pulling her closer and kissing her like he did the night before.

"What's this?" Mary asked when John pushed the still hot drink into her hands.

"Hot caramel apple cider."

"Oh! Thank you! I didn't think you'd remember that I liked this." She opened the top of the to-go cup and took a sip, her eyes closing in obvious pleasure. John felt another tug in his stomach that had nothing to do with her shy smile and more to do with what she was doing at the moment. He had to try doubly hard not to kiss her senseless.

* * *

Mondays were supposed to be the worst, in theory, because most people had to fight from their weekend schedule to get back on their work schedule, but John honestly was having the time of his life. It was a moderately busy day at the clinic, which kept him occupied, and he had a quiet lunch with Mary that afternoon. By the time he was ready to go home, the clinic had long since closed and only the doctors were left completing paperwork.

John knew he would have left the clinic before dinnertime if he didn't spend half the time texting Mary and Molly. Molly had just been informing him of her wellbeing (_'Slept all of yesterday and hardly noticed my terrible hangover!'_) and he and Mary had been texting off and on most of the day.

After saying goodbye to the other doctor, John took his time walking to the tube.

He was whistling to himself, and didn't even realize it until patrons on the train with him gave him weird looks. He just flashed a smile and lowered his head to his hands, trying to hold back his laughter. _These people probably think I'm the freak on the train!_

He was lost in his own thoughts as he walked towards the store, his shopping list tucked into his pocket.

He didn't bother going to Tesco that day, instead shopping closer to home. It wasn't that cold out and he wasn't purchasing milk or anything to heavy, so he found himself walking all the way home, unaided by his cane and without much pain or a limp.

There wasn't even adrenaline pumping through his veins as if he were chasing a criminal across London. He was just walking home from the store.

At the thought of chasing criminals, his heart gave a pang, but he carefully stored it away. That was part of his old life, the previous chapter already written, edited, and finished. He knew in the future, maybe closer to retirement, he might write up the old cases in an anthology and sell it for millions of euros, but for now, he didn't really want to think about it.

Besides, he had Mary Morstan to thank for helping him with his leg, not some psychotic cabbie who was hell bent on murdering people.

When John reached his flat, he bounded up to the door and unlocked it. Then he carried his shopping into the kitchen and methodically put it away. He discarded his old list and then finally removed his coat. For a moment he held onto the scarf and hat that Mary gave to him, and then he delicately hung it up beside his coat.

After such a busy weekend, John was actually a bit tired, especially since he woke up early that morning, so he wasted no time in changing into his pajamas, making a quick meal of beans and toast, and gathering his phone and a hot cuppa and settling on his sofa for a quiet evening in.

* * *

A/N: This one was a short one! And I'm mostly done with chapter thirteen, which should be posted in a little bit! (Trying to give a bit of time between chapter updates, so that way no one is overwhelmed or falls too badly behind!)


	13. Peppermint

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Thirteen: Peppermint

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

It was raining in December.

John almost missed the snow.

He jogged lightly to the clinic, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He was surprised when Lisa opened the door as he neared, and he smiled at her as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He wiped his feet off on the matt in front of the door and shook out his coat.

"Early?"

"It's the second Tuesday of the month, Doctor Watson! Our drug representative is here dropping off samples and prepping for our meeting in examination room three."

John nodded his head. He _always_ forgot about the drug representative's visits. It entailed a slightly boring meeting followed by a superb takeaway lunch that he never complained about, and then between patients and paperwork, storing away the new samples and materials the representative dropped off. It happened monthly, and yet John still wasn't used to it. Granted, it was only his seventh month, but he normally caught on to things like that.

"I made coffee this morning. Would you like a cup?" Lisa asked, stepping away from her desk.

"No, I had coffee already, and I don't want to suffer from a caffeine crash during the meeting." Mary had taken it upon herself that morning to purchase peppermint mochas from a Starbucks for the two of them for their commutes to work.

"You might not need a caffeine crash to fall asleep today," Lisa said, shaking her head. "I think we've heard this spiel already! And I'm not even a doctor, and I have to suffer through it."

John sighed and started to take off his coat. He shook it out in the hallway, dispelling water drops and then he hung it up, along with his scarf and hat. "At least the three of us can pass notes like last time." Lisa chuckled and walked away from his office, leaving him to prepare for his day. He went to his desk and plopped down, carefully removing his laptop and placing it on his desk.

There was a paper schedule on his desk of the patients he would be seeing early that morning and later in the afternoon; on drug representative days, they didn't normally take in walk-in patients unless it was an emergency.

He checked his e-mail, responded to one from the head of education at St. Bart's reminding him that he had a "continuing education seminar" on the 15th that would take all day, and then he left his office to prepare examination room two for the day. It used to be Lisa's responsibility to check that all three examination rooms were stocked and ready for the day, but as her duties began to pile up and the doctors were in talks about hiring two nurses or medical assistants to help during the day that both John and Doctor Thomas decided it would be easier to stock their own examination room and leave Lisa to scheduling, filing, and general maintenance of the clinic.

John made a mental note to purchase her a Christmas gift; the clinic wouldn't be able to function without her.

* * *

_'Has anyone asked about your relationship status, because my oldest students keep asking me if I have a boyfriend? Evidently I've been more chipper than usual the past two days!'_

John smiled at his phone and responded to her text; they were both on their late lunch breaks at the moment.

"What has you smiling, John?"

John glanced up from his phone and looked at Lisa, who was watching him from the corner of her eye. Their drug representative and Doctor Thomas were on their way with lunch. "I…uh…a text message?"

"Was that a question?" Lisa asked, stifling a laugh.

John cleared his throat. "No. I had a text message."

"From that woman who you had a "hot date" with on Friday?"

John nodded his head. There was no use denying the fact. He sent Mary another text message. _'It seems I spoke too soon. Colleague is asking why I was smiling at my phone.'_ "We're seeing each other exclusively, now."

"That's fantastic! Congratulations! Now our post-holiday dinner will have an even amount of people! I was worried it would just be the five of us, with my husband and Doctor Thomas's wife, but we'll have an even six." She pulled out her phone. "This reminds me, I need to make reservations for us. You did remember that we're all going to dinner the Monday before the clinic opens again, right?"

"I did not remember, but I will make certain that Mary and I are free that evening." John sent another text to Mary about her schedule for that evening, knowing she would be on holiday from work still, but not wanting to interfere if she had holiday plans with her family.

The remainder of their small break was spent in silence as Lisa made reservations on her phone, and John continued to talk to Mary. When the drug representative and Doctor Thomas returned, John reluctantly slid his phone into his pocket and participated in the conversations floating around the table.

They were having roasted chicken and potatoes for lunch that day, and John couldn't deny the fact that he was starving.

After lunch and after the cleanup of examination room three, John checked his e-mail, washed his hands, and then waited for his next patient for the afternoon.

* * *

_"Hello dearie, I hope I'm not bothering you?"_

John tucked his phone between his shoulder and chin and washed his hands in his sink. "Not at all Mrs. Hudson. Can I do something for you?"

_"Oh, I've just done a bit of baking for the holidays, and I may have possibly made enough desserts for the entire country. Would you like to take some off my hands? Whatever's leftover, I can give to Mrs. Turner and her married ones."_

"Sure. I can come over tomorrow after my shift. I've just got home and don't want to venture out in this rain."

_"I don't blame you. It makes my hip ache something terrible! Are you taking care of yourself in this weather?"_

"Mrs. H., I'm a doctor. Of course I'm taking care of myself."

_"Doctors are the absolute worst patients. I saw it on the telly."_

John laughed, knowing that was the truth. He hated getting seen by other doctors or being admitted to the hospital, which he used to do on a rather frequent basis before. "By the way, are you going to your sister's for Christmas?"

_"I am, but I'm not leaving until Christmas day. She's going to her in-law's for Christmas Eve."_

"Well, I'm thinking about having people over the day before Christmas Eve, if you're interested? We can have dinner and drinks and open presents."

_"That sounds fantastic! It'll be nice to catchup with everyone at the same time!"_

"Great! I was planning on you, Molly, Greg, and Mary—"

_"Who is Mary?"_

"She's my—"

_"Do you have a girlfriend?!"_ Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. _"You have a girlfriend! How marvelous! Bring her around tomorrow; I would love to meet her! Actually, I'll make dinner and we'll make a night of it, but only if she's free. If she has plans, I can still make dinner for the two of us! I have to go now, planning and cleaning up to do! Remember, come over right after your shift; I know how early you like to go to bed on work nights! Ta for now, John!"_

"Bye Mrs. Hudson!" John managed to get out before there was a resounding click that indicated the end of the conversation. He stared at his phone for a moment, and then sighed.

Mary was going to have to meet his friends and what he considered family sometime, right? With only a bit of trepidation, he clicked Mary's name in his contacts and called her.

_"Hello!"_ Mary said after only a few rings.

"Am I bothering you?" he asked.

_"Not at all!"_

"Great! I have a question. Do you have plans tomorrow night?"

Mary hummed for a moment as she thought. _"I teach lessons after school until five. And then I was going to start planning lessons for next week, why?"_

"Oh. Well, I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me and my landlady?"

_"Your landlady?"_

John began pacing around his small kitchen, his heart going at a faster rate. "Well, she's my former landlady, not-my-housekeeper-pseudo mother. I understand completely if meeting her so early on in our…well…our relationship is a bit much! I can tell her you're busy, which you are, I mean."

Mary was quiet for a moment, and then she said, _"If I plan during my lunch instead of eating with you, it'll definitely clear up my schedule quite a bit. I would love to meet your landlady-pseudo mother."_

John stopped in the middle of his kitchen. "Really?"

_"I care for you, Doctor Watson, and this woman is obviously very important to you. I would love to meet anyone who you value dearly." _

John swallowed thickly for a moment, his tongue feeling heavy. "I—I care for you too, Mary." There was silence for just a moment, and then John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We're probably going to get kicked off the tube tomorrow for indecency when I see you in the morning. Just fair warning, I'm going to kiss you senseless."

Mary laughed wickedly, and soon John was laughing with her. _"I can't wait for tomorrow, then. I haven't been kissed senseless since Sunday…and it has been much too long."_

"Sunday was senseless for you? Mary, you have no idea what you're missing!" John said, dropping his voice a bit lower. "I'll see you in the morning, and I have the drinks this time."

_"O-okay."_

John laughed again, enjoying how he was affecting her. "Goodnight, Mary."

_"Goodnight, John."_

As John placed his phone in his trouser pocket, he smiled softly. _I've never fallen for someone this hard, this quickly before. I'm head over heels with this one._ After another moment of reflection, John resumed his dinner preparations, wanting to try out the new lemon chicken with creamy pasta recipe Lisa gave him during their lunch that day.

And now that he wasn't having lunch with Mary tomorrow, he could make extra so he could pack his lunch instead of eating out.

* * *

With his delicious dinner eaten, his lunch portioned out for the next day, and his dishes cleaned, John spent a moment leaning over his kitchen sink to breathe. He spent most of his meal fretting over dinner with Mrs. Hudson and Mary the next evening, while partially enjoying the new recipe.

"Everything will be fine. Mrs. Hudson is hardly the worst person Mary could meet. If this was two years ago, she'd be meeting Sherlock in the midst of the biggest case of his life; that would have been something to worry about!" John shook his head firmly, mentally told himself to get a grip on his emotions, and then he meandered over to his bookshelves and pulled down a medical journal he got the other day in the post but hadn't had the time to read through.

Reading about medicine always calmed his nerves. It was his inner-doctor channeling his personality.

Curled up on his sofa, John spent the rest of his evening reading and texting Molly and Lestrade to confirm the Christmas party plans.

* * *

A/N: Last update for today! I'm worried that I've zoomed through the past 2-3 chapters to get to a chapter that I'm super pumped to write (it's chapter 15), so I apologize if it's seemed like I've been writing filler chapters or very short brief things. I'm just so excited to write the ending of this that I can't help it! :)

Anyway, thanks for reading! I'm going to try and respond to reviews tomorrow after I get off from my retail job! Goodnight (or good morning/afternoon/evening)!

-Janet


	14. Gingerbread

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Fourteen: Gingerbread

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

John waited outside the clinic for Mary to arrive in a cab. He was trying his hardest to calm his nerves. He managed to go to bed the night before at ease, but his nerves built through most of the day until he could hardly stand it. Over and over again, he reminded himself that Mrs. Hudson was harmless, but Mary was right, this woman was someone very important to him, and most of the time, he wanted to please her the best he could.

But it wasn't lost on him that he never wanted or needed approval from Mrs. Hudson before.

"John?"

John jumped and realized Mary was standing outside a cab, looking at him worriedly. He walked towards her, and she easily looped her arms around his neck. "Stop worrying. Everything is fine." She kissed him, and John leaned into her touch for a moment, before remembering that the meter was running for the cab, and it was a tad bit cold outside.

"Come on," he said, ushering her into the back of the vehicle. He pulled his bag onto his lap as he shut the door and gave his former address.

Mary easily reached across the seat and grabbed his hand. "Is your landlady some kind of monster I should be worried about?"

"Absolutely not. She's harmless."

"So take a deep breath, and exhale. I should be the one worried."

"No you shouldn't!"

"Do I not meet some kind of requirement?"

"What?" John could feel himself sweating. _Why am I so nervous?_ His stomach was tied up in knots and he felt a little sick.

A minute later, Mary was tugging him down until his head was resting in her lap. He was laying uncomfortably cramped in the back of the cab but it didn't matter as Mary ran her fingers through his hair. "Shh…" she murmured soothingly. John squeezed his eyes shut and listened as Mary said, "Going back to your old flat doesn't have to be scary."

"I've been there before," he whispered, resting one hand on her knee and giving it a weak squeeze. "Last week."

"But it was a surprise visit, wasn't it? You weren't planning on staying there, and even then your landlady had you nestled in her flat and you didn't have to think about where you used to live."

John exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut. "It's alright," she cooed. "You've been thinking about this all day. Not about my visit with your landlady, but about your former life. Rome wasn't built in a day, and grief doesn't magically disappear overnight. Just take a deep breath and focus on one thing at a time."

"I didn't even realize…" He couldn't even form the words. I've been stressed about 221B all day, and this has nothing to do with Mary and Mrs. Hudson.

Mary scratched his scalp and allowed her fingers to float down to his neck, giving it a rub. "Sometimes it's easier for someone on the outside to notice."

After a minute, John took another deep breath and then pulled himself from her lap. "Sorry," he said, embarrassed. His cheeks were burning, and he could feel the heat leading down his neck and burning his ears. Having some sort of panic attack in the back of a cab with his girlfriend of three days was not something any man would be proud of.

But John was pulled from his thoughts when Mary rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He looked at her, but her stare was entirely understanding about his emotions. "It's alright, John. Really." She leaned closer to him and John pecked her lips lightly.

Finally, after worrying all day, his mind was at ease.

* * *

There was a note pinned to the door in Mrs. Hudson's neat script. 'Come inside John and Mary!' John unpinned the note and opened the door. Mary's hand was clasped tightly in his, and he didn't even bother glancing up the steps to his former flat. Once again, he was deadest on getting inside Mrs. Hudson's flat as soon as possible.

Her door was cracked open, and John pushed it open the rest of the way. "Mrs. Hudson?" he called.

"Coming!"

And in came Mrs. Hudson from her kitchen, a purple apron over her charcoal dress and purple cardigan. She smiled brightly at her visitors, and John dropped Mary's hand to hug her and kiss her cheek. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

"Hello John! And this must be Mary! You're absolutely beautiful! Come here!" And Mrs. Hudson took Mary into her arms and gave her a firm squeeze. "Any woman who has John Watson's heart must be a good woman! Now into the kitchen. The pork is resting on the cooker and the potatoes are almost done! You can mash them dear, my hands still ache from peeling them. But take off your coat! What a lovely scarf, John."

Mrs. Hudson just chattered away, and soon enough John was almost feeling left out as Mary and Mrs. Hudson became engrossed in a conversation concerning…well, John wasn't entire sure. He just finished setting the table, relief flooding through him that the two women were getting along splendidly. As he was opening and pouring the wine, Mrs. Hudson told John the potatoes were ready to be mashed, and she and John traded places.

Mary was cutting the pork as John worked on the potatoes, the entire flat smelling lovely. It did help that Mrs. Hudson had one of every known dessert in Britain made and sitting on her counter. And from what he heard from Mrs. Hudson, she had the multiples of each dessert frozen.

He and Mary were each going to go home loaded with sweets and desserts.

* * *

"Mrs. Hudson, may I use your bathroom?"

"Of course dear! It's just down that hallway to your left."

When John and Mrs. Hudson were left alone, John working on washing the dishes, Mrs. Hudson saddled up beside him and nudged his hip with her own. "You're going to marry her, aren't you?"

"Mrs. Hudson!" he spluttered, turning red. "I—we've only—I mean marriage is a—we haven't even—Christ!"

Mrs. Hudson just smiled at him. "I think you're going to marry her. And I approve. And then in two years or so, I expect grandchildren!"

"Mrs. Hudson!"

John wasn't sure what worried him more, Mrs. Hudson already planning his wedding or his deep down hope that Mary would agree to marry him…if he asked…in the next year or so. "I'm a goner," he muttered, dropping his head.

"And it's a beautiful thing." Mrs. Hudson patted his shoulder and then moved to the table, where she was working on filling bags with his and Mary's dessert takeaways.

They continued cleaning and packing away in silence, until Mary returned. "Mrs. Hudson, you have such a beautiful home."

"Thank you! I watch all those shows on the telly, telling you how to decorate and shop, and I get my ideas from that."

John smiled as Mary returned to his side to dry the dishes he was washing. John knew his way around Mrs. Hudson's kitchen as well as he knew his own, so he easily put away the dishes once they were dry.

Mrs. Hudson was still working on separating the desserts when John looked longingly at the door. He wanted to go upstairs, just to look around. He had an inkling that seeing the flat again would help him. "Mrs. Hudson, do you mind if I go upstairs for a moment?"

"That's fine dear. There's a key on the hook by the door."

John grabbed Mary's hand and led her back towards the front of Mrs. Hudson's flat. He picked up the key, and Mary followed him silently as he walked up the steps and back to 221B Baker Street.

* * *

John wasn't sure what he was expecting when he opened the unlocked door (_Molly must've left it unlocked_), but he definitely wasn't expecting it to be _warm_. He held his breath as he crossed the threshold, his eyes darting everywhere.

It was dark and he couldn't see much that was for sure.

"Uhh…do you want me to turn this lamp on?" Mary whispered.

"S-sure."

She turned on the lamp, and John blinked at the sudden brightness.

And then he was winded.

Everything was just as he left it, except it wasn't dusty. His eyes swept over the ridiculous wallpaper, the books filling the shelves, the Cluedo still on the wall with the knife, everything. He peeked into the kitchen, and his brow furrowed when he saw Sherlock's most prized possession, his microscope, missing from the table.

For a moment, he thought Molly took that too. But as his concern over his friend settled, he realized that Sherlock probably nicked it, along with all his other science-y things from St. Bart's, and Molly felt an obligation to return it.

Besides, it wasn't like Sherlock was coming back to do disgusting experiments anymore.

After another cursory sweep around the room, he saw that Billy the skull was gone. Mrs. Hudson had a knack for hiding it from Sherlock, so there was a possibility that she just kept it for sentimental reasons.

"I need to sit," John murmured, going over to the couch and sitting down slowly. The panic he felt in the cab was returning, boiling low in his gut. In moments, Mary was beside him, clutching his hand. Just her touch was enough to ground him, and he took a deep breath.

"Tell me about Sherlock," Mary asked.

"Like what?"

"Anything. The good things, the bad things, the odd things, whatever you feel comfortable with…if you want."

"Oh, he was a terror most of the time," John admitted softly. "In the blink of an eye he could go from a high functioning sociopath, which I honestly never believed, to a barely functioning five year old. But that bloody idiot was my best friend." He shook his head slowly and leaned back into the couch, taking comfort from Mary. "He used to do these mad experiments in the kitchen. I can't tell you how many times I nearly consumed human flesh, saw a head in the fridge, or found moldy fingernails in my bedroom. Well, that last one happened once, and I banned him from ever entering my room again. "

"He really did all those things?"

"He did things you would never believe." Mary shifted until her head was resting on his chest, and John found himself sifting his fingers through her hair. "But he was a great man, a brilliant man. Smartest bloke I ever met. He solved cases that the New Scotland Yard couldn't even begin to work on, and he found connections and patterns that not even the best detective could find. He saved lives on a daily basis." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Once, some Americans broke into our flat and roughed up Mrs. Hudson. I think Sherlock knocked two of the men out right away, but then he threw the other one out the window after beating him up. He was fiercely loyal over those he thought counted."

Mary nuzzled his chest. "I didn't know he did all those things. And I never read the papers—they're all full of rubbish anyway."

"They are." If there was one thing that John believed, it was that the papers printed whatever would sell, and slandering Sherlock for months after his death had been the reason why John just stopped reading the paper. It was too painful to see articles of first hand accounts and witness to Sherlock's "fraudulent behavior". John bit his lip for a moment and then whispered, "They said terrible things about Sherlock—_I_ said terrible things to Sherlock…"

"Do you want to talk about it? I'll listen."

John hesitated for a moment. Even with his sessions with Ella, he never talked about the last thing he said to Sherlock. But with Mary laying comfortingly on him, he felt safer than he ever did in his chair sitting across from his therapist.

"Just before he jumped, we were arguing. I called him a machine, implying that he didn't care about anyone around him but himself, and he gave me some bullshit line along the lines of "alone protects me" or something, I can't even really remember, I was so angry at him, and then I stormed out and rushed home." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Sorry for swearing." Mary murmured that she didn't mind, and John relaxed into the sofa. "But he called me. I was his note. And I remember every word he said to me."

John hadn't realized his breathing was shallow until he felt a warm hand cupping his face. "Tell me about the good times," she whispered. "Tell me about a memory you're fond of or something funny he did."

John had to take two deep breaths in order to calm the tremor in his hand. "The first time I realized that my cane was a psychosomatic mind thing, we were running from the police at night, going through dark alleys and jumping fences and being teenage criminals, basically. And when we got here, we were giggling! Marry, giggling like a bunch of school girls, and then Angelo, the owner of that restaurant that I want to take you to some time, came over and gave me my cane. I ran across London without my cane! It was glorious. And then there was a time…"

And John talked through the night, retelling old stories about his and Sherlock's cases, some of Sherlock's quirks, and stupid jokes they shared. And Mrs. Hudson came up a few times, the first time giving them plates of gingerbread, the second time with tea, and the third time collecting their dishes.

John didn't stop talking until he realized Mary had drifted off to sleep, and then he realized how late it really was. He knew Mary liked to be in bed early if she could help it. Very gently, John woke her up, and as she apologized profusely for drifting off, he cut her off with a scorching kiss, quick to tell her that all was forgiven.

* * *

"I won't see you for lunch tomorrow, because of that seminar at Bart's," John said softly, as he walked Mary to her door.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. But we're still on for drinks with your friend Molly, right?"

"Right."

They hesitated at the door for a moment, and then without further ado, he wrapped his arms tightly around Mary, conveying to her that he was alright, she didn't need to worry, and he was entirely grateful for her help. She returned his hug fiercely.

"Text me if you get a chance tomorrow," Mary murmured, carefully pulling away from his embrace.

"I will," John whispered. He picked up her hands and gave them a squeeze. "Thank you."

Her smile was sincere as she leaned close again.

No words needed to be said as John kissed her lightly.

* * *

A/N: Whew. This chapter was a bit tricky for me to write. I've dealt with the loss of a loved one somewhat recently (my father in 2009), and this feels really…real. And if Mary seems uncharacteristically sympathetic and understanding for someone in that situation, I guess it's because I'm basing it off of the relationships I leaned after everything that happened to me.

Just wanted to get that out there. Thanks for reading, as always! I know I've fallen behind in responding to your very encouraging reviews, but know that I appreciate them greatly! :)

-Janet


	15. Presents

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Fifteen: Presents

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

_'I've had to make my own coffee this morning. :('_

John stared at the forlorn looking picture on his phone that Mary sent him of her white coffee mug. He tried to smile as he sent a similar picture of his own to-go cup.

He returned home from his evening with Mrs. Hudson and Mary, and had come to terms with the fact that it was going to take a while for him to feel alright with his grief.

And then he spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed, because for the first time since Sherlock committed suicide, he was returning to St. Bart's hospital.

The thought literally made him sick.

He had to drag himself out of bed that morning with only a few hours of sleep beneath his belt, and he drank several cups of coffee before he took a shower and got dressed. He was in a right state of anxiety as he climbed into the cab and gave the driver the address to St. Bart's. As they were nearing the building, he had the feeling that he was experiencing the whole day over again, and he had to grip his knees tightly and think of anything and everything to stop the tremor in his hand.

After sitting in the back of the cab with his hands clenching his knees for several moments, he relaxed his grip and picked up his phone. He flipped through his contacts, picked a name, and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey Mike, it's John Watson. Could you do me a favor?"

* * *

Mike Stamford was a reliable friend, and John was relieved when the man stood outside a maintenance door in the back of St. Bart's, waiting for John.

John couldn't bring himself to walk in front of the building, so he got out of the cab half a block away, and turned down alleys until he neared the back of the hospital, keeping his eyes away from the skyline.

Mike greeted John with a firm handshake and a smile, and didn't ask why John needed to come inside through a side door. "It's good to see you, mate," Mike said, leading the way from the maintenance door and to the more accessible parts of the hospital.

"It's good to see you too," John said, hoping he sounded chipper. He squeezed his fists, wishing he brought his cane with him. "Are you attending this "Continuing Education Conference"?"

"I'm actually running one of the sessions this afternoon. It's the one after lunch. It's on the most recent advancements in medicine for oncology."

"Oh. I keep forgetting you're a teacher now, and not just a physician."

"And I've been kept busy with research too. Molly Hooper has been taking over some of my duties in the morgue, and I have a feeling she'll be made Head of Pathology one of these days."

"Really?" John asked, surprised. Molly had neglected to tell him about her advancement at St. Bart's. In fact, Molly never mentioned her work over their last two meetings. John made a mental note to ask her about it that evening during drinks.

"Oh yeah. She's been working like a dog for nearly two years now. She basically lives here! And she'll be the first woman to become Head of Pathology at this hospital; and the youngest one at that! She's just turned 33 I believe."

John halted for just a moment at Mike's admission about Molly's work ethic. How had she managed to take care of herself, her cat, and her grieving friends while working to death? He knew Molly spent a great deal of time in the presence of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, having weekly dates with the two of them, and she had been very good to John for the first few months after Sherlock's death before he started shutting everyone out and then moving out on his own.

That woman was so much stronger than anyone gave her credit for.

"Coming?" Mike asked, when he realized John was half a dozen steps behind him.

"Yeah! Sorry!"

* * *

Despite not knowing a lot of people at the conference, John had an amazing time. He felt in his element with a roomful of doctors, being able to discuss medicine and treatments and illnesses. He missed the energy and excitement of working in a fast paced environment like an A&E, but being a General Practitioner had its merits too. Steady hours, not so sad, and the ability to have a social life outside of his job.

If he wasn't a GP, he would have never met Mary.

It was the end of the day, and John felt more at ease than he did that morning. He still wished he brought his cane, but he did overwhelmingly well regardless. And now he was waiting in the lobby of the quiet hospital for Molly.

He couldn't bring himself to meet her in her office. It was across from the morgue and that was just too much for him at the moment.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. His coat was slung over his arm because it was much too warm to be wearing it in the hospital. He knew he'd have to put it and his scarf and hat on before he stepped foot out of the hospital though.

John was by himself at the moment in the lobby, which was why movement in the hallway to his left caught his eye. He thought it was Molly coming towards him, and he opened his mouth to greet her, and stopped.

There was a tall, lanky man with a swagger in his step walking away from him.

Curly dark hair.

Long, brown coat.

Collar popped as if he was trying to be cool.

The coat was all wrong. And the trousers and shoes. But the hair and height and swagger and collar were all too familiar for the former army doctor.

John choked or gasped, he wasn't entirely sure, and took one hesitant step towards the man. "Sh-Sherlock?" he breathed.

And the man stopped in his tracks.

"Oh _Christ_." John took one step, and another, and then another, until he was running down the hallway. "Sherlock!" he shouted. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he couldn't really breathe.

And then suddenly John collided with something—or rather, someone.

He tumbled towards the ground, his head slamming into the floor, the wind knocked out of him. He stared unblinkingly at the ceiling for a moment, and then he sat up, ignoring whoever he ran into and stared down the hallway.

No one was there.

"John! Oh my God, John, are you alright?"

Molly Hooper was swimming in his vision, but John could hardly focus on that. "I saw him," he whispered, struggling to his feet, ignoring the books that were scattered around him. He took one step away from them and felt his world spinning.

"Saw who, John?" Molly asked, and John spun around, staring at her.

"I saw—I thought I saw—" His throat worked, but he couldn't seem to find the words. _I couldn't have seen him. He's dead! He is dead. Buried in the ground. I watched him die._

John couldn't think.

It took him a moment to realize Molly was speaking. "—going to text you. Something came up and I've got a bit of work to do tonight. I have to do research and I won't get done until late. Are you sure you're alright? You hit your head pretty hard."

John slapped away her hands and took a step away from her. He needed to get out of the hospital. His mind was playing tricks on him. "Gotta go," he gasped, before turning from her and literally running away.

* * *

It didn't take John long to hail a cab, for which he was grateful, because he could hardly keep his eyes away from where he knew Sherlock landed when he jumped. As he sat in the back of the cab, he kept up a silent mantra: _he's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He's dead._

He paid too much for the cab, he was certain of it because every bill in his wallet was now sitting in the cabbie's lap. But John didn't care. He jumped out of the vehicle and stumbled towards his door. His hand was shaking uncontrollably and his leg was hardly supporting his weight. His world was spinning and he was dizzy and his chest ached and—

He didn't even know he was falling until he felt a pair of strong hands wrap around him and haul him to his feet. "I've got you, Doctor Watson. Come on now, you don't want to cause a scene."

Distantly, John realized Mycroft Holmes was helping him into his flat.

Was the rotten sod, as Mary so eloquently called him, spying on him? Did Molly alert him that John bumped his head a little too hard?

"'m fine," John groaned, struggling in the man's grasp, to no avail. The older Holmes easily dug into his coat pocket and removed his keys. He unlocked the door to John's flat, and ushered the man inside.

John managed to rip himself out of his grasp finally and stumbled towards the wall, using it as his support. "Leave me alone," he growled.

"I believe that is unwise in your current condition, Doctor."

John spun around, regretting it almost immediately as his stomach lurched. "Stop following me. Stop spying on me. Stop it. Leave me alone. I don't need you to look after me because you did such a shit job at doing it for your brother! Fuck off!" he roared.

John didn't stick around long enough to see if Mycroft left or not. He used the wall, his sofa, tables, and anything he could grasp to pull himself into his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, feeling how it shook his entire flat and knew that his neighbors were going to grow concerned with all the yelling and door slamming from the normally quiet doctor. _Sod the neighbors._

He barely kicked off his shoes and socks before collapsing onto his bed. _I'm concussed. Shouldn't sleep. I have to stay awake._

But John hardly listened to his advice. In fact, he was certain that he was hyperventilating so hard that he passed out from lack of oxygen to his brain.

* * *

_"John? John, come on, mate. Open your eyes." _

John opened his eyes blearily and blinked slowly. Someone was swimming in and out of his vision. "Can you sit up?" John barely had a chance to respond before he was pulled up and he slammed his eyes closed at the sensation flowing through his gut.

"Drink this." John felt cool glass being pressed again his mouth, and he slowly took several deep drinks of the cool water.

When he had his fill, he heard the glass get set on his nightstand. After another moment, he opened his eyes and saw Lestrade staring at him, his mouth pressed in a thin line. "You gave us a fright, John Watson."

"Us?" he asked weakly.

"Your girlfriend called me at the Yard when you wouldn't answer your phone. Then Molly called me and said you fell and hit your head and wanted to know if I could check on you." John gingerly felt the back of his head, aware that his brain felt like it was throbbing in his skull. He winced at the tender spot in the back of his head but he was satisfied that there wasn't a huge bump or wounds that needed checked.

He was certain he didn't crack his skull and if he had a concussion, it was a mild one. _Why the hell does my head hurt? _John tried to remember what he had done that day. _Went to Bart's. Had lunch with Stamford. Oncology session was good. Doctors everywhere. Ran into Molly. Saw Sherlock. Mycroft was here? Saw Sherlock. Sherlock is dead. He is dead. Dead. What did I see? God, I'm going to be sick._

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Lestrade was snapping his fingers in front of John's face and he blinked his eyes slowly. "What?" he asked, irritated.

"You're breathing like a maniac. Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No."

"As a medical professional, do you think you need to see a doctor?"

John focused on himself for a moment. He took several deep breaths and tried to settle his rolling stomach. He was tired, which he knew was either a symptom of a concussion or his lack of sleep from the night before.

"I have a concussion," he said slowly. "My stomach is unsettled, and I am going to vomit…soon." He tried to stand shakily from his bed, and Lestrade jumped up, his hands steadying John. He couldn't step, his leg shaking badly. "Get my cane, will you? It's by the sofa."

Once John was alone, he inched towards the edge of the bed and dropped his head_. It was the sleep deprivation. There is no way I could have seen Sherlock. Did I see him after I bumped into Molly and bumped my head?_ He scratched the back of his neck and looked up when Lestrade reappeared with his cane.

John took it in his hand and carefully made his way to the bathroom.

* * *

"Hi Mary."

_"Oh thank God."_ John winced at the evident relief in Mary's voice; he probably should have called her immediately after he woke up instead of an hour after. _"I'm sorry if I overreacted by calling your detective inspector friend, but you weren't answering your phone and now I sound like some crazy clingy girlfriend, but I was worried."_

"It's fine." John scrubbed a hand over his face and then picked up his glass of water and took a sip from it. Lestrade was standing at his cooker, heating up a tin of soup for him, and John knew he should continue sipping at his water. "I fell and was a bit disoriented and came home. Fell 'sleep in my bed. Greg found me and woke me up."

_"Do you need to go to the hospital?"_

"No." John closed his eyes. "Already called Doctor Thomas, my colleague. He's going to look me over first thing in the morning."

_"Do you need someone to come over?"_

John glanced at Lestrade behind him and then at the sofa that he commandeered. His friend was already planning on staying the night and waking him up every few hours to make sure he was alright. "Greg is staying over."

_"Okay."_ He heard Mary take a shaky breath and guilt washed over him anew. _"I'm really glad you're okay. How was your day?"_

John couldn't help it, he chuckled, and he was happy to hear Mary let out a soft giggle. "Other than my fall, it was good. I learned a lot. We can talk about it tomorrow at lunch."

_"Which reminds me,"_ Mary said, _"I ordered a bit of extra takeaway, Chines, because I was nervous and I tend to scavenge a multitude of different things when I'm nervous, I guess. Want me to pop in and have lunch in your office? That way you don't have to walk around as much…"_

"That sounds good." John looked up when Lestrade placed a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him, and he smiled in thanks. Lestrade nodded his head once and then crossed the flat and sat down on the sofa. "Greg is taking me to work."

_"Good! I was going to ask if you were taking the tube or not."_

"Sorry you have to make coffee two days in a row. And buy lunch. And travel to the clinic to eat with me."

_"If it's any consolation, I'm expecting you to purchase our drinks for two weeks and pay for my lunches for the rest of my life."_

"Sounds perfectly fair." John picked up his spoon and plopped it back into the bowl. He was debating whether or not he should tell Mary what he thought he saw; he was certain he didn't see Sherlock until after he bumped his head. He couldn't really remember the circumstances of his fall to be honest. He was still feeling disoriented about the whole thing.

_"I can almost hear you thinking, John,"_ Mary said. _"Why don't I let you go and you can get some rest? You sound tired anyway."_

He didn't really want to let her go. He actually really wanted her to be nestled on his sofa instead of Lestrade, but he knew he couldn't do that to her on a school night; he couldn't really ask her to do that at all. "Okay," he said softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Mary repeated.

After saying goodnight, John placed his phone on the table and the slowly began eating his soup. Between every bite he sipped at his water until his stomach was full. Then he carefully stood up from his table and rinsed his dishes before making his way to the sofa.

He plopped down on the opposite side as Lestrade and the two of them watched the news in silence, Lestrade glancing at John every few minutes. John didn't mind, his brain entire focused on trying to persuade himself about what he thought he saw. _If I did see Sherlock today, that would have been one hell of a Christmas present_. He curled into a ball on the sofa and chewed on his thumb nail.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he saw something that he wasn't supposed to see.

* * *

A/N: …I liked this chapter. Thanks for reading! :)

-Janet


	16. Fireplace

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Sixteen: Fireplace

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

* * *

Lestrade was the best caretaker John had ever had, even when he was initially invalided and in the hospital. He didn't pester him, he didn't coddle him (even though John wouldn't have minded a hug at the moment) and he made delicious toast and tea for breakfast.

He slept on his sofa and woke John periodically throughout the night to be certain that he could be roused. Because of this, John didn't get much sleep, and he had a dark feeling that he was plagued with nightmares, but if he screamed during the night, Lestrade had the decency to not mention it.

The car ride to the clinic was quiet, and John leaned his head against the window. He would give anything to not have a heavy workload that day; he was exhausted and desperately just wanted to call off work. But if Dr. Thomas was going to give him a once over, even though he didn't think he needed it, then he should probably just stick around for his shift.

"Are you awake?"

"Hmm? Yeah…"

"We're here. Whenever you're ready." John opened his eyes to see that he was already at work. John took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then he got out of the vehicle, clutching his cane tightly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. See you around."

John was met at the door by Doctor Thomas, who looked concerned. _I must look like shit, then._ John turned and waved at Lestrade before stepping into the clinic.

* * *

_"Dr. Watson's in his office…"_

_"Alright, thank you very much…"_

John opened his eyes and blinked slowly when he heard the sound of his office door closing. He rubbed at his eyes and then smiled when he saw Mary take off her coat and scarf, hanging it up beside his own. "Afternoon, sleepyhead."

"Hi."

Mary crossed his office and stepped around his desk, tilting his head back so she could look into his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay. A bit of a headache. And I'm tired." He glanced at the clock on his wall and was relieved to see he had only been asleep a few minutes. "Doctor Thomas and I agreed that I should take a half day and rest during the weekend."

"That sounds nice. When does your shift end?"

"About five minutes ago."

Mary lifted a skeptical eyebrow and said, "Then why are you here?"

"Lunch!" She rolled her eyes, and John smiled at her. "I wanted to see you today." The boyish grin that took over his features was enough for Mary to giggle and peck his cheek. Then she eased herself onto the edge of his desk and gently cupped his cheeks, her thumbs stroking the stubble that he didn't shave that morning.

"I have a proposition for you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I too have a half day. My colleagues have meetings this afternoon to discuss testing for the next term, and I was exempt." She took a deep breath and looked away from John, staring instead at his shoulder. "Would you like to come home with me? We can have lunch, and you can rest and I won't worry about you so much if I can actually see you."

"Hmm…" John hummed. "Is there literally anything better in the world than going home with a beautiful woman and kipping on her sofa? I hardly think not!" John very carefully stood from his desk and began packing up his laptop and shuffling papers. He had paperwork to file, but he knew that could wait until Monday. For now, he desperately needed a comfortable sofa, maybe a cuppa, and a blanket.

When his bag was packed, John and Mary each donned their outerwear and left the clinic. John leaned heavily on his cane as he and Mary walked towards the tube.

* * *

John eased himself onto Mary's sofa, his mind a bit preoccupied with his last visit to her flat. He couldn't believe that it had been almost a week since he asked Mary to be his girlfriend.

"Do you want tea?"

"Yeah, sure. I can help—"

"It's alright. Just make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a tick."

John wiggled his toes into her carpet and relaxed deeper into her sofa. It was comfortable—more comfortable than Mrs. Hudson's, and he imagined he could kip on it for the rest of the weekend if he had to.

John hadn't realized he dozed off until he felt a gentle caress on his cheek. "Come on John, you can rest in my bed."

His eyes opened slowly, and he tried to protest, but Mary was having none of it. She led the way to her bedroom, and John took in the small hallway. There were photographs that lined either wall, and he could see that she had a big family, and he recognized Henry from the restaurant that they went to in several photos.

Mary opened a door to his left and stepped inside, going straight to her bedside table and turning on a light. He followed her, hesitating in the doorway.

Her bedroom was a lot nicer than his own bedroom. It was larger and more spacious, and the colors were warm and inviting. Her walls were green with white trim, the hardwood floors were dark, and her bedding was a mix of creams, oranges and browns. A fireplace was directly across from her bed, and it looked like it had been used recently.

John had a feeling if he fell asleep in her bed, he would never want to wake up.

"Well, come in," Mary said, giggling.

John took two steps into the bedroom and passed the threshold and paused again. "You have a very nice bed."

"Thank you." Mary looked around her bedroom with a smile. "Sometimes I spend too much time working and teaching, so my bedroom is like my sanctuary. I try not to bring work into this room." She hesitated beside her bed for a moment, and then she walked towards John. "Rest. I'll probably be working across the hall in my office, so if you need anything, just shout, alright?"

"Okay."

John watched as Mary walked out of her bedroom and into the room across the hall. She left both doors open. He shuffled towards her bed and sat down on the edge. He undid his tie and dropped it onto her nightstand, and then he removed his belt.

Then he stood up and leaned his cane against the wall. He pulled back the blankets and crawled into her bed.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Later that night, John found himself eating leftover takeaway on the floor in front of the fireplace in Mary's bedroom. He felt better, his headache only just an annoying reminder of his mild concussion, and he was sitting on the cushions from Mary's sofa.

Mary was eating quietly beside him, and John took comfort in her silence. She had woken him up two times from nightmares. The first one he couldn't really remember, he just knew Mary was suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through his hair and murmuring it was all fine. The second one though, he remembered. Sherlock's name had been on the tip of his tongue when he jolted awake, and his mind was reeling with memories from his suicide.

"Sometimes it feels like I take half a step forward, and then a thousand steps backwards…" John whispered into his rice. "I've been a mess since Friday. I can't move without my cane, but last Sunday I was running without it."

Mary nibbled on her eggroll, and they continued to sit in silence for a few moments. Then she shifted around until she was sitting closer to John, their legs touching. "What has it been like since Sherlock died?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your life. What were you doing?"

John set his plate down and carefully crossed is arms over his chest, feeling a little defensive. "I was living in 221B, above Mrs. Hudson. I wasn't working. I wasn't eating. I only left the flat to go to therapy, and then I stopped going to that. I was brooding and angry and upset. I was a monster to anyone who tried to come near me, but my friends and sister kept coming back."

Mary hummed, giving him the encouragement to continue. She moved a little bit away from him, giving him space.

"Then almost eight months ago, around the one year anniversary, I couldn't take it anymore and I left. I didn't tell anyone where I went, and I got a job at the clinic, and I was living in the flat I live in now. But it wasn't any different than before and I was drinking more."

"I am not a therapist or a grief counselor," Mary began, running her fingers through her short hair, "But from what I've seen and what you've told me, you've gotten better. Especially within the last two and a half weeks. Aren't you allowed to have a few bad days on your road to recovery?" She took the chance to reach out and touch him, her hand gently resting his shoulder. "If you were talking to a patient recovering from substance abuse or a serious injury, wouldn't you tell them that they are allowed to have bad days, even bad weeks or months during their rehabilitation? Isn't this the same?"

"You're right."

Mary gave his shoulder a squeeze, and then she stood up. "I've been through this with my brother," Mary admitted softly. "And the best way to make the heart feel better after a discussion like this is chocolate ice cream, and you're just in luck, because I have some. Be back in a mo'."

John nodded his head once and offered a small smile. Mary bent and pressed a kiss to the top of his head and then she gathered their dishes and left for her kitchen. She wasn't gone very long, just long enough for John to collect his thoughts and sigh heavily.

He wasn't sure what he saw the day before, but he knew that focusing on it any longer was going to keep setting him back, and he desperately wanted to be where he was a week ago.

"Here you go," Mary said, slowly sitting down on the floor and offering a heaping bowl of the frozen dessert to John. He took it, and they ate in a comfortable silence. Sitting in front of the raging fire took away some of the chills running through his body from the cold ice cream. When they finished, John slowly eased himself to his feet, and with the bowls in one hand and his cane in the other, he went into the kitchen and rinsed the bowls before leaving them in the sink.

He returned to Mary's bedroom and resumed his place on the floor. John stretched out on his back, wiggling his toes at the fire to warm them. He laced his fingers and placed them beneath his head. "I'm an idiot," he said.

"Well of course you are," Mary admonished, leaning into his view. John's eyes widened for a moment, and she smiled at him. "You're lying on the floor when there is a perfectly comfortable bed behind you we can share."

John lifted both eyebrows, and Mary's face turned a pretty shade of pink as if she just realized the connotation. "I mean—ha—uhh—I don't have proper protection…unless you do? Oh God." She covered her face with her hands, and John could see the pretty pink turning a dark shade of red. "I'm an adult, I promise," she muttered from behind her hands.

John sat up slowly and wrapped one of his hands loosely around her wrist. "I didn't come prepared—I haven't had the need to in a long time—but I would like to take you up on your offer of snogging you senseless. And then falling asleep in your bed and doing it all over again in the morning."

Mary slowly lowered her hands and John could see them sparkling brightly, her eyes dilating. "I'd love that."

"I'll put out the fire. Practice fire safety and all that," John said. Mary nodded her head.

"Good idea. I'll change into my pajamas. You can wear those track bottoms from last time."

They didn't move, just stared at each other with a heated gaze.

Then John laughed. "We'll be here all night if we don't get a move on."

"Right."

Mary's giggles as she launched to her feet and went to change into her pajamas were beautiful music to his ears.

* * *

A/N: I had a bit of a writing crisis for a few days and got myself in a rut. But after spending most of yesterday staring at the word document and convincing myself that I am good at what I do, I managed to write this sucker. Sorry for the delay! Also, please note that the rating went up to "T" for swearing in the last chapter and in future chapters!

-Janet


	17. StockingSock

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Seventeen: Stockings/Socks

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

…beep…beep…BEEP…_BEEP_…_BEEP!..._

"Sorry! Forgot to turn off my alarm. Go back to sleep."

John grunted softly and pressed his face against his pillow when he felt Mary flop on top of him as she desperately tried to stop her blaring alarm clock.

When it was silent in the flat once again, John opened his eyes. Mary was still on top of him, and he could see she was trying to turn off all the alarms on the clock. When she was done fiddling with it, he carefully rolled to his back and wrapped his arms around her. "Stay," he murmured into her neck. Mary hummed in response and shifted until her cheek was resting against his chest.

"Okay."

John smiled and drifted back to sleep, not at all concerned with the fact he could hardly remember where he was and why Mary Morstan was there.

* * *

Later that morning, John woke again without the added bonus of an alarm clock, and he stared at the ceiling for a few moments, allowing his mind to slowly turn back on. The first thing he remembered had his face burning hotly with a blush. He and Mary had done a bit more than snogging the night before, and he shifted around, thinking about the sleep trousers that were laying at the end of the bed; both pairs Mary's, but one pair he had initially been wearing when they climbed into bed. He was just wearing a vest and pants at the moment, and he wasn't too embarrassed by it.

Then he turned his head and smiled. Mary migrated across the bed during the early morning. She flopped over on her belly, but her head was turned towards him as if she had been watching him sleep. One of her hands was clutching the pillow while the other was beneath her head, and the leg closest to him was resting on top of his, sort of like a leg hug.

He smiled and watched her sleep for a few moments.

_She is gorgeous. _

When the need to go to the bathroom began to become overwhelming, John sighed and gently disentangled from Mary. He paused by the bed and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Then he went off to find the bathroom, using the wall as support to walk.

After using the loo, he returned to Mary's bedroom to see her moving to sit up slowly. She wasn't all the way awake, but she smiled at John regardless. The blankets were pooled around her waist, reminding John that she too was just in her pants. He made his way over to the bed and sat down by her feet.

"Good morning," Mary whispered, covering her mouth and suppressing a yawn.

"Good morning." John leaned against her legs and Mary reached for his hand. "Plans for today?"

"Not really."

"Want to see that film that we missed last week? I bet the first showing is early afternoon. And then a late lunch or early dinner, depending on what time the film is over?"

Mary nodded her head. "That sounds fine. I'll pop in the shower then we can head over to yours so you can get ready. I don't have much in the terms of food. I've been a bit busy and haven't done my shopping. I have eggs though…and maybe a bit of bacon."

"That's fine. I'll cook, you shower."

They didn't move.

Again.

This time it was Mary who laughed first, and she leaned forward and kissed John softly. "Oh no," John said, pulling away. "If we start this now, who knows when we'll actually get out of bed!"

"I don't mind."

"You're incorrigible." With a wink, John got out of Mary's bed and grabbed his cane before going to her kitchen, ready to go on a search to find her pans and start cooking breakfast.

Breakfast was a simple affair, John cooking a few eggs, the last of her bacon, toast, and freshly brewed coffee. By the time Mary got out of the shower and into her jeans and blouse for the day, John was finishing the eggs and placing them on two different plates.

"Smells delicious," Mary commented, pouring her and John coffee and placing the mugs on the table. John smiled at her and she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Be careful, a girl could get used to this. Breakfast right after a shower."

"I don't mind," John muttered, kissing her one last time before joining her at the table.

* * *

With Mary freshly showered and dressed, John back into the clothes he was wearing the day before, and breakfast eaten, the two bundled up and left Mary's flat, opting to catch a cab instead of riding the tube to John's flat.

White thick clouds hung in the air, and it was bitterly cold outside. Mary shivered in her coat and tucked herself closer to John's side. The cabbie wasn't blasting the heat, and even though they were only outside for a few moments, they were frozen to the bone. John wrapped his arm around her and Mary rested her head on his shoulder.

When they got to his flat, John easily opened the door and ushered Mary inside. He made sure the heat was on before taking off his coat, hat and scarf and hanging them up. Mary took hers off, and John pointed over his shoulder. "I'm going to shower. Help yourself to the telly or whatever. I'll only be a few minutes."

"Alright."

John went straight to his bedroom, only slightly embarrassed by the size of his flat and how different it was from Mary's. He had to remind himself that he was just now at the point in his life where he was starting to feel comfortable in his own skin again and it was slowly being reflected in his flat. He pushed his feelings to the side and easily picked out a simple brown jumper, a white button down to go beneath it, and jeans. After grabbing a pair of pants, he bundled his clothing beneath his arm and crossed the hall to his bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

He showered quickly, knowing he was under a bit of a timetable, and he didn't bother to shave, remembering that Mary liked the bit of scruff on his cheeks and chin. He had to force himself to stop thinking about the night before and to hurry and finish his shower.

Once he was dressed, he stepped out of his bathroom and went back to his bedroom, depositing his clothes in his hamper before grabbing a pair of brown socks and slipping them on his feet.

With his cane firmly in hand, and his wallet shoved in his back pocket, John finally exited his bedroom and glanced at his watch. It wasn't even noon yet, which was when the film started. They had more than thirty minutes to leave the flat and get to the cinema. And he made good timing with his shower, having only been gone about ten minutes, which was a record for him.

He paused behind his sofa when he saw Mary in front of his photographs. She was holding one frame in her hands, but John couldn't see which photo it was. Mary turned slowly, having heard his entrance, and smiled. "Your sister is gorgeous."

"Well, she does look like me, so…" John said, cracking a huge grin. Mary rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the photos.

"And who is this?" she asked, pointing to a photograph of Lestrade.

John moved to stand beside Mary and explained who each person was in his photographs that she didn't recognize. Afterwards, Mary moved to his Christmas tree and she admired it, commenting that it was one of the best dressed trees she'd ever seen.

"Oh, and that stocking!" she said, staring at the lone stocking on his wall, filled to the brim with presents from his parents and sister. John shuffled his feet, feeling the blush on his cheeks moving down to his neck. How lonely did a person have to be to have a lone stocking on the wall for Christmas?

"Yeah, from my family."

"It's great!" Mary leaned into his side and sighed. "I didn't put up much for Christmas this year, so this is refreshing." John observed her as her eyes raked over his Christmas decorations. He couldn't help the warmth that spread through him at her appreciation. He did try hard to invoke the Christmas spirit this season. He allowed her to lean on him for a few moments, and then he pulled away slowly.

"We better get going…"

"Right! The film!"

John slipped on a pair of simple brown shoes and after the two of them put on their coats, hats, and scarves, they made their way out of the flat, only to stop as John opened the door.

"Oh my God," Mary breathed.

"I haven't seen snow like this in London before…"

The heavy white clouds John noticed earlier that morning had opened up and snow was falling heavily to the ground. There was already several centimeters of accumulation. John wracked his mind for memories of a near white out in the city. He couldn't recall it ever snowing like _this_. This snowfall was worse than what happened at the beginning of the month.

"I guess we aren't going to see that film…again."

"I don't think we'll ever leave this flat again."

Mary spun around, still standing in the open doorway, and looked at John with an arched eyebrow. He smiled at her and winked, and Mary giggled before throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

John managed to slam the door and lock it before dropping his cane and wrapping his arms around Mary's waist, tugging her closer. They stayed connected that way for several long minutes, John taking several steps forward until he was crowding Mary against the door. He could feel her toying with the zip on his heavy coat. "Are you sure?" he gasped, pulling away slightly. He eyed her carefully.

"Yes," Mary said simply, pressing her lips to his chin before they traveled to his cheek. Since he was still wearing his coat, hat, and scarf, there wasn't a lot of skin exposed that she could kiss.

"Right." John pulled away slowly and began undoing the zip on his coat. He pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. Mary got the hint and began taking off her own coat. Soon coats, scarves, hats, and gloves were lying in a heap on the floor, and John was leading the way to his bedroom, Mary's hand clasped tightly in his own.

* * *

A/N: My next goal for this story, since I obviously missed my Christmas deadline, is to finish this before the UK premiere of S3 of Sherlock! Here's to hoping I can get that done! (I think I can.) Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and I'll be seeing you around.

Thanks for reading!

-Janet


	18. Cookies

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Eighteen: Cookies

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

John couldn't sleep.

Granted, he and Mary spent most of their day in his bedroom, on and off again napping, but he figured he would have been able to at least sleep in until seven.

But by 5:30, he was up and ready to use the bathroom. So he quietly crept out of his bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom. After using the toilet, he decided on a quick shower, and then he got his laptop and sat down at his kitchen table.

The first thing he did was check the weather. He glanced out the window and saw quite a bit of accumulation, the pavement and streets were still covered in snow and it looked like no one in the city had ventured outside since the snow started to fall.

A look of consternation swept across his face as he thought about Mary getting home. If the snow kept falling, which the weather report told him it was, then she would have trouble catching a cab back to her flat, and who knows if the schools would be open the next day. The holidays were going to start soon, and John was certain Mary's last day was Tuesday. Would the schools cancel right before the last day?

Who knew if the clinic would be open in the morning? John shuddered at the thought of his commute if the pavements were still left unshoveled and unsalted.

John was so focused on his reading that he didn't hear Mary's approach to the kitchen until she cleared her throat. He looked up at her, the scowl still firmly in place. "Should I—should I go?" she asked. His eyes swept over her. She was clad in his abandoned dress shirt from the day before, and possibly nothing else.

It dawned on him that he looked like a bloke who was irritated that the girl he slept with the night before was still in his bed in the morning. Immediately the scowl melted away to a gentle smile. "Absolutely not." He indicated that he wanted her to move a bit closer, and she did, eventually perching on the edge of his seat. They both stared at the laptop screen. "Weather looks atrocious. And I couldn't sleep. Sorry if I woke you."

"It's alright. I had to use the bathroom and noticed you weren't in bed." She leaned her head on his shoulder and stifled a yawn.

Poor girl was still tired, and John couldn't blame her. He shifted so she could have a bit more room to sit on his chair, and he wrapped his arm around her to ensure that she wouldn't fall off their shared seat. "Coffee?" John asked.

"No thanks," Mary pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm going back to sleep. It's much too early."

John nodded his head and closed his laptop. "I'll follow."

"Good, because it was a bit chilly after you left."

Mary kept his hand tightly in hers as she led the way back to his bedroom.

* * *

"Can't believe we slept in until noon!" Mary said with a giggle, curling into John's side on the sofa.

Both were officially awake now, after they went back to sleep that morning. "I'm glad we did. Most of the storm has passed over the city, so you should be able to get home by dinner."

"Making plans this evening already?" Mary asked, poking John in the side.

"Of course. I'm going to crawl into bed and sleep until my alarm goes off in the morning."

"You and me both!"

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth they offered each other, since neither person was wearing anything more than pants and a shirt. Then after some moments, both of their stomachs rumbled noisily. "I feel like I haven't eaten in ages," John complained, gripping his stomach as if he was in agony.

"I can't eat any more takeaway. We almost ate all of the Chinese we ordered yesterday, and we ordered enough for several meals." Mary shuddered and closed her eyes. John listened as their stomach growled simultaneously again, and then he got off the sofa.

"Mrs. Hudson did send over all those desserts. I believe her infamous chocolate chip cookies were among the bounty. Care for something sweet?"

"Cookies sound fantastic."

The couple walked hand in hand to the adjoined kitchen and John went straight to his freezer, digging around the various freezer bags and containers until he found what he was looking for. "These are best warm. I don't know how she does it, but these cookies are just as good frozen and reheated than they are fresh."

"Thank God for Mrs. Hudson."

"Isn't that the truth?"

Mary sat down at the table as John moved about the kitchen slowly without his cane. He wasn't completely ready to be without it, but he was feeling well enough that he could do just fine for the moment. As the cookies were reheating in the oven, John poured two cups of milk and placed them on the table. The last few minutes the cookies were baking, John and Mary were a bit preoccupied, sharing kisses and giggling.

John nearly forgot what it was like to be in a relationship, to wake up beside someone he cared about, and share a space with them. It was comforting, and it made him feel warm, energetic, and bit more human.

Or maybe it was just Mary.

He couldn't really put his finger on it.

* * *

"Now I'm so full!" John complained against Mary's shoulder, as they curled up on the sofa together, this time John spooning Mary, both still wearing what they were wearing earlier, but with the added bonus of John's duvet from his bed.

"Me too! But her cookies were delicious…Why did you reheat so many of them? John, I'm literally going to explode."

"Tis the season to eat cookies and sweets, I suppose." John turned the volume up on the television and rested his head on the arm of the sofa. "Now what are we about to watch?"

"Toy Story. I liked this film growing up. Have you ever seen it?"

"Harry and I watched it all the time when we were younger."

Just as the film was starting, John heard a soft snore and peeked down to see Mary asleep. He smiled and turned the volume down a bit before nestling into the sofa.

He made it halfway through the film before falling asleep. He dreamed of pleasant things, and when he woke up a few hours later to the feeling of Mary stretching beside him, he couldn't remember a single dream.

"We seem to have the uncanny ability to not watch the films we set out to watch," Mary commented, turning around slowly in John's arms. John just smiled and kissed her lightly.

"We've just worn ourselves out. It's been almost two years since I had that much…vigorous exercise." He waggled his eyebrows at Mary, and she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

John just couldn't get over how beautiful she looked when she laughed.

* * *

"You don't have to escort me home, John," Mary said, as she wound her scarf around her neck.

Finally, after spending most of her day in John's shirt and pants, she put on her clothes that she was wearing the day before, and was preparing to go home for the night. The sun had long since set, just as people were shoveling the pavement and plowing the roads. Her commute home should be safe, but John just wanted to be certain.

"It's alright, I want to do it."

Mary carefully wrapped John's scarf around his neck and then added his green knit cap. He slipped on his coat, and with cane in hand, the two finally ventured outside.

Someone had shoveled the snow on his walkway, and John thought it might have been his neighbors. He made a mental note to thank them with some of the gingerbread Mrs. Hudson gave him, because his neighbors were some of the kindest people he had ever met and were constantly doing nice things for him, which was surprising since he lived in a pretty rough area of London.

Hailing a cab was a bit difficult; there wasn't much traffic that evening on his street, but after a few minutes, they managed to snag one. John helped Mary inside, before walking around the car and sliding in beside her. Mary gave the cabbie her address and the two sat pressed together all the way to Mary's flat.

John walked her to her door, and they shared several passionate kisses before Mary giggled and pulled away. "You'll freeze to death out here, and I know if I invite you in, we'll never get anything accomplished tonight."

"You're right," John agreed, taking a step back. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yes. Bright and early. And remember, you have to bring the coffee or other specialty drink—"

"It'll be coffee. We'll both need it."

They shared a look, and Mary quickly closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his. "Thank you for the most enjoyable weekend I've had in decades."

"Same," John murmured, kissing her one last time. "Goodnight, Mary."

"Goodnight. Text me when you get home!"

"I will."

John climbed back into the cab and looked to see Mary standing in her front room, waving at him from the window. He smiled goofily and waved back.

The journey back to his flat was a bit slower than the journey to Mary's flat, but John didn't mind. The longer he stayed away from his flat, the more time he had to ignore the dishes in his sink, the laundry that needed washing, and the sheets that needed changing. Also, if he was in the cab, he was further away from work, and for the first time in a long time, he just wanted to skip work and spend the day lounging around his house in his pants, eat food that wasn't necessarily good for him, and maybe invite Mary over.

He had to remind himself that that was literally what he did for two days, and if he did it for even one day longer, he would never accomplish anything in his life again, because Mary was all he wanted and needed in his life.

John paid for the cab with the last of the bills in his wallet, and then he stepped out of the vehicle.

As he was walking towards his flat, he noticed a rather tall man standing close to his door. He was wearing raggedy clothes, and John was certain he was homeless. "Can I help you?" John asked, reaching into his pocket for the keys to his flat.

The man turned around, and John saw most of his face was obscured by a dirty gray scarf and a matching hat. "Spare change?" he growled, shaking a cup in John's direction.

John frowned. The Homeless Network was important for Sherlock Holmes; the people in it provided vital information for some of his cases, and John to this day did his best to support them, giving them any extra money he had or offering to buy them a cup of coffee. But with this weather and the time of night, John doubted the coffee shop around the corner from his flat was even open.

"Sorry, I just used the last of my money."

John shifted uncomfortably as the homeless man's eyes pierced through him, and John took a step back, feeling his cane lose a bit of traction. He knew that some of the people in the network were a bit unstable, but this man's gaze was oddly…_familiar_.

John shook his head to dispel those thoughts. _Not anymore. It's not him._ "I have tins of soup. I can heat you up something to eat?" John offered. He probably had something the man could wear as well, and he would offer him the use of his small bathroom if he needed it.

"No." The man walked around John and hunkered down in his filthy coat. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh," John said after the aggressive homeless man who evidently was setting up shop in front of his flat until he gave him money walked away. "Alright."

After a moment, John walked into his flat and carefully locked the door before hanging up his coat, hat, and scarf. Then he peered out the window in his lounge and his brow furrowed. The homeless man didn't make it far away from the flat before lighting up a cigarette and leaning against a light pole.

John had to tear his eyes away from the sight, and moved into his kitchen.

It was time to clean up his flat.

* * *

By the time John washed his dishes, changed his sheets, and folded all of his laundry, it was nearly time for him to go to bed.

Thoughts of the homeless man were nearly pushed to the back of his mind, John only focusing on it long enough to take extra precautions securing his flat. He made sure all his doors and windows were locked. Then he found himself curled up on his sofa with tea and the telly.

John's life couldn't be more perfect.

* * *

A/N: It's taking everything in me to not post the next chapter right now. I really want to. It's the beginning of the end, you guys. I'm almost done. Seven more chapters. Maybe a bit of angst. Maybe some sad stuff. I can't wait! :)

Thank you for reading!

-Janet


	19. Father Christmas

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Nineteen: Father Christmas

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

John should have known waking up at 4:45 in the morning to use the bathroom and already having two missed calls and one voicemail on his phone was a sign that something was not right about the day.

After he used the bathroom, he listened to the message on his phone.

It was from Lisa.

_'I apologize for calling so early this morning, but I had to go to the clinic to receive something from the post and I saw we had nearly one hundred messages asking for appointments from over the weekend. Doctor Thomas is coming in at 5:30 and our doors are opening at 6:00 instead of 9:00. We're taking walk-ins all day, and a Doctor Smith from the head office has offered to assist us for the day. I will be in the office, so give me a ring if you get this message! Thank you. Bye.'_

With a groan, John rubbed his face and as he made his way back to the bathroom to shower, he called Lisa back, confirming that he would be in as soon as possible. Before he stepped into the shower, he called for a cab to be there by 5:15.

John rushed about his flat after his shower, not having enough time to brew tea or coffee. He was glad he put together his bag and he was packed and ready for the day. It was a little after 5:10, and if he left his flat right at that moment and the cab was on time, he would make it to the clinic just after 5:30.

Bundled up tightly, wearing extra layers to fight against the cold, John stepped outside and hissed as he was blasted with air colder than he was expecting. He ducked down in his coat and sighed in relief when the cab that he called for pulled up in front of his flat.

Just as he stepped inside and told the cabbie the address, he noticed the tall homeless man from the night before walking towards his flat. He made a note to ask Lestrade about the protocol with aggressive homeless people.

When John arrived at the clinic, it was just a few minutes before 6:00. His commute was lengthened due to the snow from over the weekend and an overly cautious cabbie. John was surprised to see Doctor Thomas and a woman who he presumed was Doctor Smith bustling around the clinic, and Lisa was sitting behind her desk, the phone plastered to her ear.

"Thank God," Doctor Thomas said upon noticing John. "It's going to be awful today. We've already prepped the exam rooms. You'll be in exam room three. You're seeing all of the appointments this morning, and then we'll switch and you'll see the walk-ins in the afternoon in exam room two. Take off your coat and put your bag away, grab a cuppa and then I'll introduce you to Doctor Smith." John glanced at his watch and then nodded his head.

He went straight to his office and hung up his coat and scarf. Lisa already printed the large list of appointments for the day, and only the morning appointments were highlighted. John took the list with him and leaned on his cane.

He left his office and then doubled back. He grabbed his phone from his coat pocket and sent a quick text to Mary. _'Sorry. Won't be on tube. Emergency at clinic. See you for lunch.—JW' _

* * *

_'Not getting lunch today. Call you after my shift.—JW'_

John sighed as he carefully slid his phone back into his pocket and walked out of his office, taking care of his last patient for the morning before working on the never ending line of patients that didn't have appointments.

A lot of children weren't dressed properly over the weekend when playing in the snow and now had colds.

A lot of adults had the flu.

There were several cases of hypothermia that morning that Doctor Thomas and Smith insisted an ambulance be called and transfer the patients to get better medical care at the hospital. One patient had early signs of frostbite.

And there were an unusually high number of people with sinus infections.

Everything in the clinic was madness.

And this all took place in the morning. John feared for his sanity as his lunch rolled around and he shoved a sandwich and a glass of juice down his gullet before going to exam room two.

By the end of the afternoon, they only made dent in the walk-ins.

Thirteen hours after the shift started, Lisa reluctantly told the people waiting in the waiting room that they had to leave. She informed them that the clinic would be open at six in the morning, and that their head clinic would also be opening early to accommodate their needs.

Fifteen hours after his shift started, John finally crawled into a cab and rode in silence back to his flat.

He remembered that he needed to call Mary as he neared his flat. He reached for his phone and saw that he had missed calls from both Lestrade and Molly. He assumed they were calling to ask him out for drinks, and he ignored them for the moment. As the cab pulled to a stop in front of his flat, John was searching for Mary in his contacts. He glanced up as he stepped out of the cab, noticing that the homeless man was not waiting for him. He was relieved, because he didn't have the money or the patience to deal with his aggressive behavior.

As he opened the door, Mary answered. _"You're just getting off?"_ she asked.

"Just getting home, actually. I know I usually don't see you on Tuesdays, but it'll be just the same tomorrow as it was today. And it might be just as bad on Wednesday. I have to be at the clinic by 5:30." He leaned heavily against his door and pressed his arm over his eyes. He had a stress headache that was pounding away behind his eyes.

_"That's terrible," _Mary said consolingly. _"You sound exhausted. Have you eaten?"_

"Pizza." The three doctors and Lisa chipped in for pizza as soon as the last patient left. The rest of his shift was spent trying to make headway in the paperwork littering his desk.

_"Go to bed."_

"I am. Right now, actually." _After a drink. I have whiskey somewhere… _

_"Okay. I'll see you soon, hopefully."_

"Yeah. I'll try and text you when I have a chance. I'm really, really sorry. I don't want to come off as some kind of—"

_"Don't worry, John. I understand completely. I know you're not blowing me off."_

"I'm not," John said, softly. "Goodnight."

_"Goodnight, John."_

John stayed pressed against his door for a moment, breathing deeply. He was contemplating his dental hygiene and determined that he was going to sleep in pants and worry about his teeth in the morning.

He dropped his arm, and knew he had one thing to complete before crawling into bed to sleep.

He had to take paracetamol. No alcohol. It would make his headache worse.

John pushed himself away from the door and used his cane to walk into his lounge. Only a few steps into the room, he paused, because he couldn't remember leaving the lamp on that morning, but he knew that he hardly remembered anything from the day because it was so hectic at the clinic.

It took him an unnaturally long time to realize that he wasn't alone in his flat.

Sitting on the edge of his sofa, wearing his usual suit and his trademark Belstaff folded over the back of his seat was Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

"What the fucking hell? This isn't real."

The headache pounding away in his skull didn't help matters as he stared unblinkingly at the man he hadn't seen in nearly two years. John was certain that his concussion was flaring up. _I'm a fucking doctor. Concussions don't just flare up._ John took a shaky step into the room, using his cane and the wall for support. Both his knees were trembling and he felt sick to his stomach.

"You saw but you failed to observe, John Watson. I expected more of you."

Flashes of the man at St. Bart's and the homeless man who had been there the day before swept through John's mind, but he shook it away. He could feel his vision beginning to tunnel and a sweat was breaking out on his skin. He was quickly spiraling into shock, and he refused to pass out without knowing what the hell was going on.

"You're dead."

"Obviously, I'm not." Sherlock stood up and pulled at the cuffs of his jacket. He smiled at John, and John just blinked at him.

"I don't understand. You've been gone for two years."

"I had things to do."

John felt something inside him snap. "And you thought you could FUCKING WALTZ IN HERE LIKE FATHER CHRISTMAS BEARING GIFTS?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. He was pleased to see Sherlock's expression falter, his brow furrowing together. _Does he not see the problem with this situation? _"TWO FUCKING YEARS. I NEARLY—I NEARLY LOST MY BATTLE WITH DEPRESSION, AND UNTIL THREE WEEKS AGO I WAS A WRECK." He barreled his way into the room, and he could see Sherlock deducing him.

The git thought he was coming in for a hug.

John wasted no time slamming his cane into his abdomen, watching as the world's only undead Consulting Detective double over and gasped in pain. It brought John some sense of satisfaction to hit Sherlock with the one physical thing John had to remind him that he lost his best friend _who was obviously not dead_. "I mourned you! You are fucking dead to me, Sherlock Holmes. I don't care why you're here or what things you had to do, but you better fucking get out."

There was silence for a moment, and then Sherlock slowly started to straighten up. He winced as he said, "You don't mean that, John."

John couldn't stop himself. He punched Sherlock in the jaw, pain throbbing through his hand. Sherlock's head snapped back from the force, the man unprepared for the violence. John managed to throw one more punch, Sherlock dropping to the floor, before he stepped back, trying to take control of his anger.

He picked up his cane that was lying forgotten and he turned and left, leaving Sherlock Holmes crumpled on his floor in front of his sofa.

* * *

"I need to come over."

John's voice cracked, and he felt himself quickly losing control of himself. He felt sick, his vision was tunneling, and he could hardly breathe.

_"What's wrong?"_ Mary demanded.

"Gotta come over. Please, please, please…" he begged, curling into a ball in the back seat of the cab. He could feel the cabbie looking at him every few seconds, but John ignored him, his focus solely on the conversation he was having on his mobile phone.

_"Yes, come over. Where are you? Do you need me to get you?"_

"Don't know. In a cab. Oh God. Mary. Oh my God. Christ."

_"John, you're scaring me."_

"Oh God. Sorry," he moaned, suddenly biting his fist to stop himself from whimpering.

_"Will you stay on the phone with me, sweetheart?"_ she asked.

"Yes."

John made sure his breaths were audible and he listened as Mary breathed slowly over the phone. Her breathing helped settle his own, and he was no longer hyperventilating by the time they reached her flat. The car had only been stopped for a moment before Mary pulled open the door.

John had enough control of himself to get out of the cab, but he couldn't do much else. Mary readily paid for the cab, and then she helped John into her flat.

Once they were in the safety of her flat and on her sofa, John broke down, weeping openly. "I s-saw h-him. He's a-alive. Sher-Sherlock Holmes is alive. Mary. _Mary._" He was trembling as Mary wrapped her arms around him and he tried to hold on to her tightly.

He wasn't conscious for very long after that.

* * *

_"…thank you for checking on him, Detective Inspector."_

_"Not a problem. I can't believe the idiot went there when we all told him it would be better to do it during the day on Saturday. I'm really sorry—"_

_"It's fine. John's in good hands. Try and take care of yourself. You're in a bit of shock too. Do you need to have I seat? I can make you some tea and I have gingerbread from John's landlady."_

_"No…no, I need something a bit stronger than tea. I'll show myself out. Have John call or text me when he feels up to it."_

_"Alright. Goodnight, Detective."_

_"Goodnight."_

John squeezed his eyes shut and waited until he heard the sound of Mary's door closing before opening them again. He was nestled in Mary's lap, his head cushioned on her thighs. He wiggled his toes and felt his bare feet touch the blanket that was thrown over him. He legs were propped up on several pillows, to help with circulation. He could feel that he wasn't wearing his belt either.

She followed proper procedure for someone in shock.

He felt her hand cupping his cheeks. He blinked at her slowly, and she smiled at him gently. "You're safe," she whispered.

"I know. Thank you."

"My brother is a nurse and I called him as soon as you fainted. How'd I do?"

"Good. Very good."

"Do you think you can sit up? I want you to drink a bit of water." With a bit of maneuvering, John managed to sit up and his bare feet were on the floor. Mary passed him a glass, and he drank deeply from it. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until she mentioned having the drink.

Mary took the empty glass and placed it on the floor beside her. "Off to bed, now, if that's alright."

"I can't," John began, shaking his head. "You have to teach in the morning, and I'll be honest…my PTSD causes me to have terrible nightmares after traumatic experiences and I can't—I won't—"

Mary gently cupped John's cheek in her hand. "I won't let you leave. And tomorrow is another half day since it's the last day before holidays, remember? I'll sleep when I get home. Please."

John was very still for nearly a minute, trying to decide if he could do this to Mary, but then he nodded his head minutely, and Mary's hand drifted from his cheek to his trembling hand. She gave it a squeeze and stood to her feet. "Let's go."

And John followed.

* * *

A/N: …I've been wanting to write this chapter from the beginning. How'd I do?

-Janet


	20. Sled

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Twenty: Sled

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

* * *

John stared at the ceiling in Mary's bedroom, his chest heaving as he struggled to fight his way out of his nightmares and back to reality. He felt the warmth of Mary beside him, once again anchoring him back to Earth. He focused on her, and it took him a moment to realize that her hands were gripping his hand, her thumbs stroking the sweaty skin of his palm.

She didn't say anything.

After a moment, he exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing to force Sherlock out of his mind. He didn't want this. It was hard enough dealing with his death. Now he was alive again, and the sodding idiot thought he could just come back without repercussions?

"How could he?"

He didn't mean to ask out loud. He felt Mary shift closer, resting her head on his pillow. "I wish I knew, John," she murmured, kissing his cheek. John wiped at his eyes and took another deep breath.

"You should go back to sleep. I've woken you up enough times…"

"It's alright. My alarm is going to go off in about a half hour. Are you still tired?"

John shook his head and eased her grip on his hand. Then he rolled to his side and asked, "Can I hold you until you need to get up?" He remembered Mary clearly stating the night before that if he needed anything, he shouldn't hesitate to ask.

"Course."

Mary rolled to her other side and the two of them shuffled together until John could wrap his arms and legs around her. Mary kissed his arm and whispered, "My octopus," and John giggled softly before burying his head between her neck and shoulder. It was impossible to think about Sherlock when Mary was this warm and this close and this wonderful.

* * *

John hadn't slept enough the night before to properly work, so when he called Lisa to tell her he wasn't going into the clinic that day, he expected a bit of a fight but she was surprisingly understanding.

John didn't understand why; the clinic was supposed to be just as atrocious as the day before. Then he made the terrible mistake of turning on the television. Before he arrived, Mary had been watching the news.

Plastered across the screen was the breaking news that Sherlock Holmes wasn't as dead as everyone thought. Richard Brook and Jim Moriarty were mentioned, and then old footage of he and Sherlock traipsing across London was shown next.

If John was in his own flat, he wasn't sure if his telly would have survived the morning. He desperately wanted to smash the screen. But since it was Mary's television, he turned it off and tossed the remote beside him.

Mary had left for work earlier, promising to text and call him when she had the chance. She left with dinner already prepared; a casserole of some sort, and all John had to do was bake it when it got closer to dinner time. She had given him exclusive access to everything in her flat, leaving out towels, flannels, soap, and the track bottoms and t-shirt he favored when he slept there.

John wandered to her kitchen and grabbed a few slices of bread. Not bothering to toast it, he had that and a bit of milk for breakfast before he went back to the sofa. He stared at the blank television screen and tried to ignore his situation.

At promptly 8:00, his phone started ringing, and it didn't stop.

The first person was Lestrade. He left a message.

Harry called several times in a row, and John couldn't bring himself to talk to her. He didn't even know what he was thinking and didn't want to waste his sister's time with an imminent panic attack.

Mrs. Hudson rang him two times.

Then several numbers he didn't recognize. He had an idea that it was people wanting his comment on Sherlock's return; they probably got his phone number from his blog.

Mike Stamford rang him once.

Lestrade rang him again. Then texted. John didn't read or listen to his first or second voicemail. If he wanted to see him, he knew where he was.

Then his mother called him, and John had to stare at the ceiling to not answer it.

When Mycroft called, John tried not to break his phone. Did the overbearing old brother know about Sherlock's scheme the whole time?

Mary rang him, and John answered immediately. She was just telling him that she had tins of soup that he could have for lunch, if he was hungry. They talked briefly about her commute to work that morning, her lessons taught so far, and then she told John what time he should expect her home.

By noon, John had more than twenty missed calls, too many texts to count, and six voicemails. Oddly enough, the only person who hadn't contacted him was Molly Hooper.

* * *

John didn't even realize he left Mary's flat until the cab stopped in front of Molly's home. He had to pay for the cab with his credit card since he used the last of his money for his cab home last night. He accepted the receipt, climbed out of the cab, and walked to Molly's flat, using his cane heavily.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he knocked on her door. It was Tuesday, and he knew she worked most weekdays, which meant she was either getting harassed and hounded at St. Bart's, or she skipped work too.

He was surprised when she opened her door.

"John," she breathed, her eyes widening.

And suddenly, everything started to click into place rapidly in John's mind. Molly's incessant coddling after Sherlock's "suicide". Taking care of him, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. Her need to make sure that he was alright, was eating, was going to therapy. Her ridiculous work ethic. Her weight loss, exhaustion, and her avoidance of most topics that involved her "fallen" friend. All those were not only signs of grieving, which John used to justify her behavior, but _guilt_ as well.

The day he was in St. Bart's….he didn't hit his head _before_ he saw Sherlock. Molly slammed into him to stop his pursuit.

"You knew."

Molly took several steps back, but John refused to step into her flat. "You knew, and you didn't tell me?" He saw Molly swallow, but she couldn't say anything before John added on, "You saw me at the funeral. I was devastated for nearly two years, and you couldn't even mention a word or give a clue?" The betrayal was evident on his face, he knew, but he didn't care. He could feel his hand trembling and he squeezed his cane tighter. "I thought you were my friend?"

"I am your friend, John!"

"No!" John said sharply, shaking his head. "No, no you're not. Friends don't—friends don't do this, Molly," he said firmly. "Friend's don't let their friends watch their best friend jump from the top of a building and smash against the pavement and let them believe that that person is dead when they're really not." She opened her mouth, but John shook his head. "I don't care why you did it. Don't you understand? You could have saved me a lot of pain, a lot of turmoil, a lot of sleepless and drunken nights brooding by myself. And what?" he glanced into her flat. "Did he stay here with you? That's why his violin was here, right?"

He took a step away from her. "Did you two have a good laugh at poor old John Watson, the invalided army doctor who couldn't even move on from his friend's death until he fell apart and had to put himself together again?"

"No John—"

"How many times have you lied to me, Molly?" he asked. He could feel his blood boiling. "HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES?" He saw her flinch, and he didn't even care. He heard a door open inside her flat, and he had the sudden realization that Sherlock Holmes was probably there at that moment; who else would be hiding in her flat? Toby the cat surely couldn't open doors.

John tried not to laugh hysterically. He took another step backwards.

"I'm sorry!"

"NO!" John shouted. "No! Not good enough! Not nearly good enough." He shook his head wildly, feeling his headache return full force. "I don't want to talk to you, Molly. Never again."

"John, please," Molly begged, taking a few steps towards him. The top of her dressing gown opened, revealing a bit more skin and bruises on her collarbone that looked suspiciously like hickeys. It didn't take a Consulting Detective to put together the pieces of what probably transpired in the flat the night before.

John lifted his hand and stopped her from getting any closer. "I don't want you to call me, text me, or even bloody e-mail me. I don't want to ever see you again. And you can tell your lover," he pointed a shaky finger towards what he knew was her bedroom. "that if he ever comes near me, I will shoot him." Molly squeaked and her hands tightened around her gown when she realized John saw the marks on her body.

When he saw tears sliding down her cheeks, he turned and didn't look back as he limped away. He could hear her sobs ringing in his ears until he stepped outside.

* * *

After leaving Molly's flat, he was hyper vigilant because he noticed a black car following his cab. He didn't want Mycroft Holmes to know where Mary lived, if he didn't already, so he took a detour and walked several blocks until he reached a shop selling sleds.

John went inside and after spending nearly twenty minutes inside, purchased a wooden sled and kept an eye on the shop's front window. He didn't leave until he was certain that Mycroft's car was gone. Then he politely asked if there was a back way out of the shop, and the kind older gentleman led John through the door marked "Personnel Only" and to a door that led to an alley.

Aware that he could still be caught on the CCTV, John stayed in the alleys and shadier parts of London until he reached Mary's flat. He propped the sled close to her door and then went straight back to her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing to her bedroom, until he was down to his pants.

He stopped in the doorway at the sight of Mary standing topless by her wardrobe, obviously changing from her work attire into something more comfortable. She turned around and only looked at him a moment before she dropped the shirt and closed the distance between them.

"Please," John whispered, and Mary wrapped her arms around him and tugged him closer, kissing him until he forgot what was wrong.

* * *

A/N: I have a feeling you beautiful people are going to upset with me with this chapter, and the next one. Sorry in advance! Thanks for the reviews! I'm gonna go respond to them now! :)

-Janet


	21. Snowman

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Twenty-One: Snowman

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

_Not good. _

_Not good. _

_Not good._

_Christ. _

_Not good._

John stared at the quickly retreating back of his girlfriend as she nearly ran from him. He was weakly recalling what just transpired on the platform.

He went to work. He shouldn't have done it, but the clinic needed him. He had an endless supply of patients, with an unhealthy mixture of reporters, paparazzi, and people wanting his statement added to the mix. He worked another fifteen hour shift. Mary met him on the tube, not wanting him to ride it alone after a stressful day.

And suddenly he felt like he was suffocating. Why wouldn't anyone leave him alone for one minute to catch his breath?

Then he remembered rowing on the platform. He was screaming, yelling, his anger rolling in his gut. People stared. Mary cried and for a moment she tried to placate him, as if she _knew_ this meltdown was coming. God! He would have liked a little warning from someone that this was happening.

And then he said hurtful, terrible things, and in a matter of seconds, she was turning away and then she was gone.

_Not fucking good._

* * *

It wasn't hard for John to stomp his way to an off license on his journey back to his flat and purchase a cheap bottle of whiskey. His mind was numb as he fumbled his way into his flat, slamming the door behind him.

He drank the whiskey straight from the bottle, relishing in the burn that went down his throat and spread across his chest. He sat down heavily on his sofa, not bothering to turn on his lamp. If he was going to get pissed out of his misery, he wanted to do it in the dark.

Halfway through the bottle, John found himself wishing Sherlock was with him, if only so he could yell at him for ruining everything.

It started with becoming his friend. He just wanted to live in London and try and survive after Afghanistan, but no, he was introduced to Sherlock Holmes, who had the perfect concoction of madness and adrenaline that John needed in his life.

In his drunken state, John found himself wobbling around his flat without his cane, pacing and babbling out loud. "Then the idiot gave me a purpose after wandering around lost for so long. My limp went away. My tremor went away, and I was happy. THEN HE TOOK IT ALL AWAY BY KILLING HIMSELF. He left me alone and broken and then I HAD TO REBUILD MYSELF PIECE BY PIECE WITH GLUE THAT WAS HARDLY ENOUGH. Then I met Mary. Oh God, Mary. She is perfect, you know? Brilliant and perfect and I screwed it up because you came back and ruined everything! I WISH YOU WOULD HAVE JUST STAYED AWAY FOREVER. LET ME LIVE MY LIFE IN PEACE. I deserve it, don't I? I got invalided for the Queen and I deserve some peace and quiet and a beautiful woman and children and a damn dog…"

He took a huge swig of whiskey before he suddenly let go of the bottle, relishing as it smashed against his hard wood floors. He didn't care. There were only a few sips of the terrible liquid anyway. He stepped over the mess and rummaged through his cupboards, looking for something—anything!—else to drink.

He moved to his fridge and found a bottle of wine.

He never drank wine straight from the bottle before.

* * *

"Come on Johnny, put the bottle down."

"Har'?" John opened his eyes blearily and saw his sister crouching down in front of him. It was completely dark in his flat. _Why? Is it nighttime?_ John blinked slowly and then slowly relinquished his hold on the second bottle of wine of the evening. "I'm drunk."

"I know. Can you stand? How long have you been sitting here?"

"Who called you?"

"_You_ called _me_."

"Not okay."

"What? You want me to leave?"

"No." John shook his head and tried to focus his swimming vision on his sister. "I'm not okay. I'm drunk. I'm fucking drunk." He tried pushing her out of his way as he struggled to his feet. Harry was right there with him, her arm wrapped around him for support.

"You've had a bit of a day," Harry said, guiding him to his bedroom. "I'd be drunk too."

"No, no, no," he moaned piteously, shaking his head. "He can't ruin you too."

"What?" John groaned as Harry eased him to his bed. He feebly began kicking off his shoes and socks.

"You're sober. Don't let him ruin it. He already ruined me. Ruined fucking everything. Fuck."

"Stop swearing so much," Harry admonished, kneeling down at his feet and removing his left shoe and sock that he was struggling with. He started to get into bed, but Harry grabbed his ankle. "Get into your pajamas, Johnny. Where do you keep them?"

John pointed to his wardrobe and Harry stood to her feet, first turning on his overhead light and then going to his wardrobe. He stared at her blearily as she rummaged through his drawers until she found his sleep trousers and a shirt. She returned to his side with the folded clothing and placed it beside him. "Can you dress by yourself?"

John took the clothes wordlessly and fumbled with pulling his jumper over his head. Harry left the room, giving him privacy. It took John a while to coordinate his hands, but he eventually removed the trousers and jumper he wore to the clinic that day and put on his sleep clothes. By the time he rearranged himself into bed, Harry was back with a tall glass of water. "Drink," she ordered.

John obediently followed her directions.

"Now sleep."

John lowered his head to his pillow, and within moments he succumbed to his alcohol induced sleep.

* * *

The first thing John thought when he opened his eyes was that he was dying. His entire body ached, his stomach was cramping, his eyes hurt, his mouth was dry and sandy, and he was moments away from throwing up.

It was still dark in his bedroom, but there was enough light peaking in through his window to see there was a rubbish bin beside him. He knew he wasn't going to make it to his bathroom, so he leaned over and wretched painfully.

He couldn't even remember the last time he ate.

"It's alright, Johnny."

Suddenly Harry was sitting down beside him on the bed, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he vomited. As he was dry heaving, he glanced up to see a small nest of blankets and pillows on the floor of his bedroom.

His sister slept on the floor to make sure he made it through the night. His sister, who was a recovering alcoholic, slept on the floor of her drunken brother's bedroom to make sure he made it through the night, and probably fought all kinds of temptations in doing so.

_I am a terrible person._

"Can you go back to sleep?"

"Sweaty," John complained, flopping back down to his bed when he felt like he couldn't vomit anymore.

"Shower, then? It's a bit early, only seven."

"Shower, yeah."

Harry helped John up and to his bathroom. Between dizziness and not having his cane, he could hardly stay on his feet. Harry deposited him on his toilet, and instructed him not to undress yet. Then she left and returned a moment later with another pair of pajamas, a towel, flannel, and his cane. "Try a bath. I don't think you'll be able to shower without assistance, and I love you little brother, but that's asking for too much."

John cracked a smile, even though his head was throbbing. "Get out."

She smiled at him and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving him alone to bathe in solitude.

John stayed in the bath, soaking and trying not to fall asleep in the water. After he washed up and managed to get to his feet and to the sink, he dressed carefully and then brushed his teeth. He leaned down and drank straight from the tap for several long moments, the water helping his hangover minutely.

He left his clothes on the floor since he could clean them up later, and limped his way out of the bathroom and to his kitchen. He distinctly remembered breaking two bottles the night before, but the mess was gone. Another wave of gratitude and guilt swept through him for his sister, and he looked up to see her sitting at the table, a heaping plate of eggs and bacon, toast, apple juice, and water surrounding her.

"You're a doctor, so you know what happens to the human body when someone imbibes too much alcohol. You also know that all of these foods will help fight that wretched hangover, so try and eat and drink a little bit, and then you're going right back to bed, alright? I'll handle any visitors or phone calls in the meantime."

"I'm so sorry, Harry—"

"Listen here, Jonathan Watson," Harry said, leaning across the table. "You are my big brother, and you have taken care of me in horrendously worse situations. Your sodding best friend who was dead for one and a half years just returned, and you're having a crisis, which should be expected. You have PTSD and don't do well in stressful situations, and this is a bloody stressful situation in my opinion, so don't bother apologizing, alright? Just eat, drink, get some rest, and try and sort through your thoughts when you're completely sober and hangover free. I'll probably accept your apology in two days."

John stared wide eyed at his sister for a moment, and then he croaked, "You should have been in the military." Her serious expression dropped and she smiled softly at him.

"Eat."

* * *

"Do you remember when we were little, I mean like when I was four, and we went outside and built that snowman? He was huge; taller than the both of us! I don't even know how we stacked him together, to be honest."

John laughed and nodded his head, that particular childhood memory one of his favorites. "And Mum and Gran made us drink near boiling hot chocolate to warm us back up."

"I still have the burns on my tongue, actually."

Harry and John giggled softly.

John hadn't been awake very long, only ten minutes or so. He was having a nightmare when Harry woke him and helped him out of his bedroom and to the sofa. After drinking peppermint tea (it soothes the stomach, Johnny!) and getting his breath back, Harry immediately launched into her favorite childhood memories of the two of them to calm his racing mind.

His sister deserved a medal.

After lapsing into silence for a few minutes, John felt himself drifting off again. His hangover was no longer debilitating, the breakfast, bath, and nap had helped a great deal in that respect. He snuggled into the sofa and he felt his sister reach over and tap his knee.

"You've had a few phone calls, and I took messages." He heard the distinct rustling of paper, and he knew his sister was procuring a notebook where she wrote said messages. "Greg really wants to talk to you. I told him you'd ring him tonight if you were feeling up to it. I personally think you should talk to him, because he sounded terrible." John nodded his head, making a promise that he would call his friend; one of the very few he had left. "Mrs. Hudson checked in and wanted to make sure you were alright. I told her I was going to be here a few days. She wants to pop around for tea in a couple days. I told her you'd also call her in a bit." John nodded his head again. "And a bunch of papers called. I told them to sod off…politely, of course."

"Right. I'm sure that's exactly what you did."

"And also," Harry added, "Sherlock called. I may or may not have told him to also sod off…more or less. I probably used a few expletives before hanging up on him. I guess your anger is living vicariously through me."

John stiffened on the sofa, but refused to open his eyes. "I told him to leave you alone. I made it quite clear that _if_ there was any contact, you would initiate it. In no uncertain terms did I say you would contact him though." Harry patted his leg soothingly. "And that's all. No texts or other phone calls. And people have been hovering outside your flat, but your neighbors called the police and took care of that. I gave them some gingerbread, by the way. Since your freezer is overflowing with desserts."

"Thanks Harry," John murmured, finally opening his eyes. "Thank you very much."

"No problem. Like I said, you've helped me out too many times to count."

"And…" he hesitated a moment and stared blankly ahead. "Mary Morstan didn't call or leave a message or anything?"

"No…" Harry heaved a huge sigh and sunk into the sofa. "You did something stupid, didn't you?"

"Very, very, _very_ stupid."

"Will you tell me what you did? I might be able to help." He heard his sister take a shuddering breath and shift around beside him. "I've done my fair share of very, very, _very_ stupid things to Clara, and I've learned a few things."

With a sigh, John reluctantly shared his heated words from his row with Mary, feeling worse with every second that passed, because that woman did not deserve what he said to her.

Hopefully Harry would be able to give him some advice to fix it.

* * *

A/N: I got weepy writing this chapter. I cried writing parts of the next chapter. Just a bit of foreshadowing for you ladies and gentlemen who have been keeping up with The First Twenty-Five Days of December.

Thank you for reading, reviewing, and being so kind!

-Janet


	22. Sleigh Bells

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Twenty-Two: Jingle Bells

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

John waited until early morning to venture outside of his flat. The sun wasn't up yet as he slipped on his coat, scarf, and hat, and tiptoed out of his flat, aware of his sister sleeping on his sofa. He quietly closed the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't see anyone standing around his flat.

He made his way to the small coffee shop that he and Harry ate at during her last visit. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a scone before sitting down in the back of the shop. He ate his breakfast quickly, but he nursed his coffee slowly.

He contemplated purchasing a hot caramel apple cider as a peace offering for Mary, but then he figured that she might not even open the door to him, let alone accept something as impassive as a hot drink peace offering.

When his coffee was gone, he left the shop, still relieved that the streets of London were quiet. He took the time to breathe deeply and walk for a bit, getting the much needed air that he needed. The anxiety that he was feeling the day before was mostly gone, but he still wanted a moment to reflect.

For a moment, he wished he grabbed his laptop so he could write, knowing it would help.

_Sherlock is alive. I don't want anything to do with him or the people who betrayed me._ He closed his eyes for a moment and paused in the middle of the pavement, and then he took a steadying breath and continued forward. _It's going to be awful to hear about him taking cases and solving crimes, but that chapter of my book is finished and I refuse to edit it again._ John paused and looked both ways before crossing the street. He knew he was wandering aimlessly, but he needed this time to himself. _I don't want to lose Mary, but I may have already buggered that up. All I can do is apologize and be satisfied with whatever she chooses to do. But I have learned my lesson, and I won't take for granted what I have again._

With that thought in mind, John went on a search for a cab. It took him a few minutes of walking, but he finally found one, and with the roads clear again from snow, his trip to Mary's hardly took any time.

The sun was just rising as the cab pulled to a stop in front of her flat. He stepped out of the cab and paid for it before walking to her front door.

He winced after he knocked. This was her first real day off for holidays, and not only did she deserve to lie in late, but she might not even be home. He tried to recall when she was leaving to join her family to celebrate Christmas when her front door opened and his brain stopped functioning.

She looked absolutely terrible.

And it broke his heart. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose was red, and it looked like she hardly slept a wink the night before. He dropped his gaze to her bare feet and opened his mouth and closed it a few times, unable to even form one sentence.

Mary leaned against her doorframe, not making a move to let him inside, which wasn't the best sign for John.

Finally he gathered enough courage to look at her again. "I know this won't be nearly enough, but I'm so sorry for yesterday."

Mary pursed her lips and John could see her mouth begin to tremble. She took a deep breath through her mouth and she croaked, "I've been giving you so much, Doctor Watson," the nickname no longer sounded affectionate. "and I can't easily forgive what you said."

"I understand," John whispered, his gaze wavering. He could hardly keep eye contact when he could see tears shining in her eyes. Of all the people in the world to cry, this woman didn't deserve it. He had to swallow a lump in his throat. "I hope we can be friends."

"I need time. Just give me time."

John nodded his head and took a step back. "Maybe I'll see you around when the new term starts?" he asked, staring at the pavement. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to look at her again. Tears flooded his eyes, and his chest suddenly ached.

"Maybe."

It sounded like she would be doing her best to never ride the tube to work again.

"Goodbye, Mary," he whispered as she began shutting the door.

He didn't hear if she responded.

* * *

John could feel Harry's worrying gaze on him, but he just chewed his lip and tried to breathe deeply. "Maybe you should come to mine tomorrow."

"Maybe I should."

John made no move to get off his sofa. He had been curled up in the corner for almost twelve hours. He couldn't bring himself to move, eat, or drink, even though Harry tried to get him to eat toast with his favorite jam and tea. His heart was broken, and it _shouldn't_ _be_. He had only known Mary for exactly twenty-two days. People didn't fall in love that quickly, but John felt as if he ripped his heart out of his chest and left it outside.

"You can stay through Boxing Day, if you want."

"Okay."

"You will come?"

"Might as well. Might stay longer than Boxing Day. Might stay forever. Start over. There's bound to be an opening in an A&E somewhere, right?"

Harry sat down on the arm of his sofa and stared at him. "I have room. If you need to stay forever, we'll figure something out. Mum and Dad have that little place on the coast."

"Right."

"Are you going to get off the sofa?"

"Not right now. Can you just…" He couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence, but he knew his sister understood.

Harry sighed heavily and he felt her weight leave the sofa. "I'll run out and get some takeaway, give you a bit of time to just…think."

"Thanks."

John stared blankly ahead, listening to the sounds of his radiator running, of Christmas music softly playing from across the room, of the blood rushing in his ears.

He would definitely miss his neighbors. They were such a nice couple, and he hardly knew them, but they were always doing nice things for him like clearing his pavement, calling the police on the pesky reporters, and not calling the police on him during the times he shouted and threw glass bottles around.

And the place on the coast that his parents owned was much too big for his meager belongings. He considered getting a few dogs to help fill the space.

Walking dogs on the beach couldn't be so bad.

* * *

It was late, and Harry was sitting by herself on John's sofa, trying to think of the best way to cheer her brother up. Him moving and living with her in Cardiff, even though she would love living closer to her brother, ultimately meant John giving up everything and being pretty much miserable the rest of his life.

She knew he was really angry and really hurt by his friends, but she knew in the long run he could forgive them and move on.

Hell, he forgave her and she was a drunk ruining lives by the day.

Maybe a short holiday away, like last time when he stayed with her a few weeks would be beneficial. They could stay in their parents' place on the coast as a whole family and help him heal again. It would be easier than last time, because she wouldn't be fighting sobriety.

Harry was startled out of her thoughts by a tentative knock at the front door. She swore beneath her breath and jumped from the sofa. John had just laid down in bed nearly thirty minutes ago, and if this unwanted visitor startled him or woke him up, she was positive she would break their neck.

"Why can't you leave him alone?!" she grumbled, before pulling the door open.

A woman stood on the other side, and Harry regarded her critically. She towered over her and knew she looked intimidating. If this was that reporter—Kitty Riley or something of the sort, she was going to lose her mind. The woman had the audacity to call three times the day before, and twice today to speak to John to get a scoop! Harry watched the news; she knew this woman was in desperate need to clear her name.

"You're Harriet…" the woman on the other side of the door said.

Harry stood a bit taller and lifted her brows, a direct imitation of her brother. "Actually, it's Harry. And who are you?"

"I'm…uhh…I'm Mary. Mary Morstan."

And suddenly Harry deflated. She wrapped her arms around the much shorter woman and tugged her into the flat, not letting go of her. "You're the brilliant Mary Morstan, the woman my brother won't stop talking about."

"He's still talking about me?"

Harry pulled away but grabbed the woman's hand. "I'm going to make us a cuppa, and we're going to have a chat."

* * *

John heard his bedroom door open, and he tried to ignore his sister as she walked into his room. He expected her to come in, just not so soon. He rolled to his side and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he could pretend to be asleep and fool her.

He knew he couldn't.

But he was surprised when she didn't say anything. He bit his bottom lip and exhaled through his nose.

He jumped when he felt her sit down on the edge of his bed. And then he froze when he felt her wrap her arms and legs around him.

It took him a moment to realize it wasn't his sister.

"M-Mary?"

"Shh…We'll talk in the morning."

John squeezed his eyes shut again and took a shuddering breath. Then he pressed a kiss to her arm and choked out, "My octopus." Mary let out a shaky laugh, her breath ghosting against the back of his neck. He relaxed in her embrace, and his mind that had been running rampant for most of the day finally settled. He didn't fall asleep right away; instead listening to Mary's soft and even breathing as she drifted off, her hold tight on him.

His heart began to mend itself as he closed his eyes.

* * *

A/N Jingle Bells/Sleigh Bells was the prompt for this chapter, and in my outline I stuck pretty clear to it. In actuality, I made one vague reference to Christmas music and didn't even mention this song! Ooops!

Thanks for reading! Chapter 23 will be posted soon!

-Janet


	23. Carols

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Twenty-Three

I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

_'Johnny,_

_I didn't want to wake you or Mary, since you were both sleeping and needed it. But my train ticket was for 7:00 this morning. I'm glad we didn't purchase another ticket for Cardiff, because it would have been wasted money!_

_Your Mary is just a beautiful human being and you are so lucky to have her. Please don't ever upset her again, because honestly, I've never met such a caring and wonderful person like her._

_And our discussion about Cardiff and leaving London should really be put away. You have a good job, a great girlfriend, and a few friends who would miss you terribly if you left. Also, you know you would get tired of living by the sea. Wait until you're old and decrepit and retired. _

_I made myself pancakes this morning, and there's plenty of batter left in the fridge. But I used the last of your bacon. I found some sausage links in your freezer though, and I set them out on the counter._

_I'll see you sometime around Christmas. I really think you should be with Mary tomorrow, so don't worry if you can't make it up until Boxing Day or even after. Just send me a text._

_Always,_

_Harry'_

John stared at the half sheet of paper that was resting neatly in the middle of his kitchen table. The faint smell of fried bacon still hung in the air, but other than that, it was as if his sister was never there.

He smiled after reading the note a second time and picked up his phone that his sister commandeered a few days ago. He sent his sister a thank you text and then stared at his phone for a moment.

He really needed to return some of the messages that Harry had taken for him.

As John floated around his kitchen, using the counters and his cooker for balance, he dialed Lestrade's number and waited for him to answer. It wasn't that early anymore, nearing ten in the morning on a Friday, and he expected the detective to either be working or at least awake.

_"You alright?"_

John's brow lifted. Evidently they weren't going to go through typical greeting formalities. "I'm better. You?"

Lestrade swore colorfully, and John paused as he was reaching into the fridge. "What was that?"

_"I've been in hearings and meetings all day. Every bloody case I've worked on since the beginning of time is getting reviewed, again!" _

"Because of Sherlock?" If his voice cracked at mentioning his name, Lestrade didn't acknowledge it.

_"Oh yes,"_ Lestrade hissed. _"And his highness has been most unpleasant since his return to the living, no doubt your work. I'm not saying you need to forgive him, because if I were you I wouldn't, but Christ John, he is a terror."_

John placed the yellow mixing bowl on the counter and removed the lid. He took a deep breath and reached for his small set of measuring cups. Then he bent to retrieve his favorite pancake frying pan from the lowest cabinet. "Did you forgive him?" he asked softly.

_"You know I have a soft spot for the kid."_ Lestrade shakily inhaled, and John was reminded that Lestrade had lost someone who he considered the closest thing to a child—his own child. He had guided Sherlock back when he was using and helped him off the drugs and finding work, and to have him back must have been…_"You don't have to forgive him,"_ Lestrade said firmly. _"You of all people have been through hell so many times because of him. This isn't something that you can just… You don't forgive and forget with something like this, ya know? Take your time, even if that means never reconciling."_

"But if he's a terror now, what about the Work?"

_"Sod the work! Your wellbeing is 100% more important than the Work. Listen, I have to go—I'll see you around yeah? Maybe dinner or something."_

"Right. Yeah. Later, Greg."

_"Bye."_

John paused for a moment, staring at his phone. Then he placed it on the table behind him and resumed cooking breakfast for himself and Mary.

* * *

"Want to talk?"

"Yeah. Let me just put these in the sink."

John moved from his sofa, his and Mary's breakfast dishes in his hands. He walked slowly without his cane since he needed both hands to carry the dishes. He leaned against the sink for just a brief moment, gathering his courage, and then he returned to the sofa.

He was surprised when Mary got up and delicately placed herself in his lap. After a few moments of maneuvering, John and Mary were comfortably holding each other.

"I just want to apologize again. What I said was…horrible. Absolutely horrible. And I can't take it back, but I need you to know that I'm not usually like that."

"Like what?"

"Angry. Full of rage. Claustrophobic." He shuddered and closed his eyes, tightening his hold on her, remembering not only the things he said to her, but what he said to Sherlock and Molly too. "I don't get angry. I don't weep. I don't faint. I'm first and foremost a soldier, and I should have a better reign on my emotions, instead of lashing out at you or drinking or what have you."

"But you're also human," Mary reminded.

"Well…" John opened his eyes and looked at Mary. He wasn't trying to make excuses about his behavior. Mary reached up and cradled his face in her hands, her brow furrowing in concern. "I talked to Harry a bit. I think I'm going to go back to therapy. I just need to talk this out, and I can't burden you more than I have."

"You're not burdening me, John."

John sighed. "You have a very demanding job as a music teacher teaching so many during and after school lessons. In the last few days I have been a right monster and you don't deserve—"

"Here's the thing," Mary said softly, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "It's not your decision to choose what I do and do not deserve, understand?"

"Of course not!" John said quickly, scrambling to say something to direct the conversation in a better direction.

"And I have decided that I _do_ deserve you, just like you deserve happiness. And don't I make you happy?"

"Unbelievably."

"Glad that's settled," she said, leaning forward and kissing him firmly. John sighed against her mouth and pulled her impossibly closer. When they broke apart, a bit breathless, John rested his forehead against hers. "And if you want to go to therapy, I'll support you."

"Thank you."

Mary nuzzled him, her nose brushing against his. "I've accepted your apology, by the way. Just promise that if you ever feel like that again, you'll give me some kind of signal and I'll back off. You don't have to say anything, but a squeeze of my shoulder or knee or something, and I'll give you some space, alright?"

"I promise, no more public meltdowns," John whispered against her lips, before kissing her again.

* * *

"Is this your boyfriend Miss Morstan?"

"He's handsome!"

"Aww look, they're holding hands!"

John could feel his cheeks turning a bit pink, but it was nothing compared to Mary's red face at her student's teasing. They were standing in the band room of the school she taught in, waiting for all of her students to show up. Even though her face was bright red in embarrassment, she gave his hand an encouraging squeeze and didn't let go.

They were going Christmas Caroling that evening, and Mary convinced John to go.

Mary cleared her throat, "Is everyone here? I've counted everyone but—"

"Ashley! She was just talking to her parents outside!"

"Right," Mary said, satisfied. They were surrounded by Mary's best vocal students, a group of fifteen in all; seven young men and eight young ladies. John smiled at them politely when Mary introduced him. "This is Doctor Watson," a lot of snickering and catcalling happened for a moment, and Mary glared at them, which only made the students laugh more. "And these young ladies and gentleman were my best students but now I'm not so sure."

"Don't be that way, Miss M.!" One of the boys cried, and Mary rolled her eyes.

John just laughed. It seemed Mary had a really good rapport with her students. They seemed trustworthy enough, and he figured their teasing wouldn't go much further than what was happening now. John took a moment to look around her classroom. It was large with blue carpeted floors. Posters hung up on nearly every surface, the posters containing vocabulary, fingering, slide, and valve position charts, prominent musicians, music history facts, chord symbols, and some complicated music theory that he didn't understand. She had a white board in the front of the classroom, one half of it with a permanent staff and imprinted on it and the rest a regular writing surface.

But her classroom was spotless, all chairs and stands put away and stacked against the wall, the boards clean, and instruments put away. It seemed that the classroom had a heavy cleaning once the school let out for the holiday. John could still smell the lemon disinfectant in the air.

Once Ashley, the final student of the group entered the room, Mary gave final instructions, and then she and John led the way out of the classroom and onto the streets of London.

When Mary convinced him to come along and walk through the cold and sing Christmas Carols, he agreed only because she was asking him so nicely, and it was in the middle of a few passionate kisses and he was a bit distracted. He came to terms that he wasn't going to have much fun, but he was absolutely wrong.

First of all, her students were hilarious and the evening was full of giggles and laughter and more fun than John anticipated. Second of all, Mary kept sending him huge grins whenever he sang, which at first was tentatively, but by the end of the evening he was singing with the boys, balancing out the group well. Third of all, a lot of people handed out sweets when they showed up at their doors.

They even got invited inside a restaurant to sing.

Everyone received a cup of hot chocolate for doing that.

By the end of the evening, John was tired, but happy. He helped Mary pass out some of Mrs. Hudson's desserts that they still had once they returned to the school. He and Mary waited around until all of the students were either reunited with their parents, guardians, or drove themselves home.

Standing in the middle of her brightly lit classroom, John had the strong urge to pull Mary to him and kiss her.

But this was her work area, and he wasn't certain if she had cameras in the room for security purposes, so he told himself to calm down.

As they climbed into a cab to return to John's flat, Mary sent John a brilliant smile and kissed him loudly on the mouth. "Just as I suspected," she said, pulling away, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "You have a marvelous voice, Doctor Watson."

He waggled his eyebrows at her and said, "Why thank you, Miss Morstan."

They both erupted into giggles and could hardly contain themselves all the way home.

John felt like his life was once again on the road to perfection.

* * *

A/N: I did a bit of a rush job reading through this again, so sorry for any mistakes. Thank you for the reviews! And guess what? THIS IS GOING TO BE FINISHED TOMORROW! (Hopefully. I'm dragging my feet writing the 25th chapter because I don't want it to end!)

-Janet


	24. Chestnuts

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter 24: Chestnuts

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

"Do you have any Christmas Eve traditions?"

John turned his head slowly to look at Mary. It just turned midnight and they were snuggled beneath the blankets on his bed. He shook his head. "Not really. I was going to visit Harry this year, like I did a few years ago, but things just got so complicated…so she's going to my parents, and I'll head up around Boxing Day." He kissed her bare shoulder and asked, "Do you have any?"

"Roasting chestnuts over a fire."

"Really?" he pulled away in surprise. "Like in the song?"

"Yeah. You've never done it?" John shook his head, and Mary laughed. "You have no idea what you're missing!"

"And where do you usually do this?"

"I spend Christmas Eve with my brother and his in-laws, and then on Christmas morning we _all_ travel to my parents' home and stay until after Boxing Day. It's glorious. We're really lucky that everyone gets along so well."

"When will you be leaving, then?" he asked, tightening his hold on her, not ready to spend time without her yet.

"Actually," Mary said, returning his embrace. "I won't be joining them until New Years."

"Really?" he once again pulled away in surprise. Mary was looking at him a little shyly.

"If it's alright with you, that is."

John sat up beside her in bed, the narrow space hardly big enough for him to do so. He looked down at her with wide eyes and whispered, "You want to spend Christmas with me?" _Even though you've only known me twenty-four days and we just had a huge row and you're just wonderful._

She nodded her head.

And then John gathered her up in his arms, silencing her giggles of surprise with a bruising kiss.

* * *

When morning came, John found himself on the edge of his bed, hardly hanging on. He very carefully rolled over and looked at Mary. She was also sleeping close to the edge of the other side of the bed, and John made the decision that he had to purchase a new bed.

Then carefully, he wrapped his arms around Mary again, and dragged her closer to his chest. She immediately sat up and looked at him, the blankets falling to her waist. Sometime during the night, she had donned the shirt he was wearing the night before.

John was beginning to enjoy this habit of hers.

"Happy Christmas Eve," Mary grumbled, plopping back down onto the bed, her head landing on his shoulder.

"Happy Christmas Eve," John repeated.

Mary stretched and yawned. "Want to come to mine? Chestnuts. Christmas films. Maybe we can make a snowman or something if it snows. The news said we're going to get a bit more snow."

"Right now?"

"We can shower first."

"My bathroom is tiny."

Mary cracked an eye open and said, "I'm up to the challenge."

Their morning was filled with kisses and giggles, as they showered together, and then they stumbled out of the bathroom, Mary wearing the soft t-shirt John had intended to wear that day. But she looked infinitely better looking in it than he did, so he wasn't going to complain.

"I'm not that peckish," Mary commented, plopping down on his sofa.

"Probably because we ate two loaves of gingerbread in the middle of the night," John commented, sitting down beside her on the sofa. "And I still have some more sweets in the freezer!" He ran his fingers through Mary's hair, making it stick up in different directions. She tried to glare at him, but she couldn't seem to lose the smile on her face.

John settled into the sofa, and he felt his smile begin to fall as he eyed the photos across the room. He still hadn't called Mrs. Hudson, and Molly and Sherlock's photograph were still prominently displayed. He could feel Mary looking at him, and then from the corner of his eye he saw her look across the room at the photos.

"Can I say something?" Mary asked.

John sighed and then he looked at her. "Always."

She put a comforting hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. "I think you should talk to her."

It was obvious she did not mean Mrs. Hudson. John swallowed thickly and shook his head. "I don't want to—"

"I know, but from what you told me, you didn't really give her much of a chance to explain."

"They're sleeping together," he blurted out, covering his eyes with his hands. "And it's none of my business, really, but it just makes me think they were being sneaky and—and why did she think it was alright to lie to me for so long?"

"I don't know," Mary said, "But don't you think you should give her a bit of a chance? Let her explain herself fully?"

"Why?" His voice was sharp and he could feel his shoulders tensing. Mary gave his arm a squeeze, the silent cue asking if he needed a moment. He shook his head, and Mary took a deep breath.

"It sounds like Molly was—_is_ deeply in love with Sherlock Holmes, and she did what she did for a reason. It has to take a lot of courage to lie to your grieving friends for such a long time."

John was quiet for a long minute, ruminating on Mary's statement. Then he relaxed a bit into the sofa and he whispered, "That's true."

Mary didn't say anything else on the matter, but she did give John's arm a squeeze.

* * *

"Can I get a kiss for good luck?"

"You don't even have to ask," Mary whispered.

They shared a brief kiss in the cab, before John got out, leaning on his cane. "I'll be at your flat after this."

"That's fine. Take your time."

John felt like he looked pitiful as he stared at Mary as she rode away in the cab back to her flat.

But he needed to do this.

It wasn't really fair to be so short with Molly Hooper, after all.

He made his way to her door and knocked on it. Once again, he wasn't entirely certain if she would be home. It was still early in the afternoon, and he knew she often worked late shifts at St. Bart's during the holidays, which meant she should be home.

Her door opened after a minute, just when John was beginning to think he should have called first. He at first stared at her bare feet, her toenails pink and sparkly. Then he took a deep breath and raised his eyes.

It was all similar to last time. Her eyes were wide in surprise, except this time she was fully dressed, wearing a large gray jumper and jeans.

"John," she whispered.

"Molly."

She took a few steps back, inviting him inside, and John entered her flat, squeezing his cane tightly. Molly closed the door behind him, the tension thick between them. He knew the woman was uncertain if he was going to yell or not again, and if John were being honest, he wasn't quite sure either.

"I can make tea?"

But before John could respond in the negative, Sherlock suddenly appeared, striding forward and stepping between them, shielding Molly from him. "You will not hurt her," he growled defensively.

"You know damn well I would never put my hands on a woman."

"Do I?"

John bristled, feeling the anger he thought he could keep at bay rearing it's ugly head. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm not here to talk to you, Sherlock. I'm here for Molly. Move." He could see Molly putting a restraining hand on Sherlock's shoulder, but Sherlock refused to back down.

"Are you armed?" he asked.

"With what? My gun?" he asked incredulously.

"You threatened to shoot me the last time. It's only safe to ask."

"You can't deduce it from me, then? Been hiding too long with your girlfriend and forgot your own skills?" John snapped viciously. Sherlock flinched, and John knew those words had cut the Consulting Detective.

"Alright boys," Molly said firmly, tugging on Sherlock's shoulder. "That's enough." She managed to squeeze her way between Sherlock and John, who were suddenly standing nose to nose. She pushed on Sherlock until he reluctantly took a few steps back. "John, we can talk in the kitchen. Sherlock," she said, turning to him. "Try and occupy yourself."

John followed Molly without looking at Sherlock; he wasn't anticipating Sherlock being there and was having a hard time keeping his animosity at bay. "I already had the kettle on," Molly said, pulling out a chair for John at her table and having him sit down. "The water should still be hot."

John sat down slowly in the offered chair and rested his cane in his lap. He stared at the table unblinkingly as Molly made the tea. When she placed the steaming mug in front of him, made as he liked it, he cupped his hands around the porcelain but didn't drink. He glanced up as Molly slid into the seat across from him, already nursing her drink.

Deduction was not his area, never had been, but it was obvious that Molly didn't look well. John took a deep breath and forced himself to quell his emotions and then he asked, "Why?"

"Because he asked me," Molly whispered, immediately setting her mug upon the table. "He needed me when no one else could help."

"I could have—"

Molly cut him off, shaking her head. "You couldn't. You were already too involved. John, he jumped to save your life."

John blinked once at Molly, feeling his head begin to spin. "What?"

"Moriarty had assassins trained on you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. If Sherlock didn't die, the three of you would have…" Molly trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip. She began fiddling with her mug of tea, taking a small sip before putting it back on the table. John just watched her, not taking his hands off his mug. Squeezing the porcelain stopped his hand from trembling. "John, this isn't really my story to tell."

"I won't talk to him," he said firmly. A flicker of pain flashed through Molly's eyes as her brow furrowed, but she didn't say anything. John knew he was being stubborn about Sherlock, but he had to take care of one thing at a time, and Sherlock was the hardest thing in his life right now; it had to take a backseat.

"What did you do?"

"I created a compound to lower his heart rate and reduce his pulse. I also found capable members of his homeless network and helped them cleanup and prepare for the entire scene afterwards. I paid a man to hit you while on a bicycle. You weren't supposed to get hurt, but you hit your head." She winced and rubbed the back of her neck. "I performed and documented a false autopsy report. I took care of his injuries after his fall and while he was gone."

"How often did you see him?" John found it hard to speak.

"Maybe six times before this month?" Molly offered. "Then he was close to finishing and he needed to be in London. He's been staying here for two weeks."

John took a shaky breath, letting go of his mug so he could rub his face. He was so tired and confused. He heard the sound of Molly getting up from her seat padding around the table until she was beside him. She tentatively rested a hand on his shoulder, not sure if her touch was welcome or not. "You have to understand that I didn't do this to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life regretting all the pain this has caused you, but I can't and won't take it back. If I wouldn't have helped him, Sherlock would really be dead. Do you understand, John? I can't change what I did, but I am so sorry for everything. I tried my best to take care of you and the others."

And suddenly John felt a pain ripping across his chest anew. "And who took care of you?" He was coming to the realization that Molly's part in the scheme wasn't so easy. It was obviously hard on her, if her appearance counted for anything; she was thinner than she should have been, dark circles were beneath her eyes, and it looked like she hadn't had a good night's rest since Sherlock died.

It was Molly's turn to stare and blink. She was quiet for a moment and then she whispered, "Hiding his death from you and having to watch everyone grieve were the consequences. Karma, I suppose, if you believe in it."

John stood to his feet, ignoring the sound of his cane clattering to the floor. He heard Sherlock run towards the room but he ignored it, instead focusing on Molly as she began to tremble. "I am sorry," John whispered. _Sorry for not being there when you needed a friend. Sorry for not understanding earlier. Sorry for yelling. Sorry that you had to do this alone. I'm so sorry._

Molly shook her head wildly. "I don't deserve your—"

But then John wrapped his arms around Molly and tugged her to him. She all but collapsed into his arms, sobbing and hiding her face against his shoulder. He just tightened his arms around her and refused to let her go.

* * *

When John stepped into Mary's flat, she was singing softly in her kitchen. He made his presence known by knocking over the sled that was still propped up by the door. He swore colorfully and he could hear Mary's concerned voice asking, "Are you alright?"

"Fine, just knocked this over. I have no idea what I'm going to do with it."

"We can take it to my parent's house. My Mum watches these little boys every once in a while. I'm sure they'd like a sled."

_We?_ John smiled softly. _I guess I'm spending New Years with Mary too!_ He leaned against the doorway and watched as Mary sliced up a few apples. An orange was already peeled and pulled apart on a tray. Grapes were sitting on her counter by her sink. After a moment, John crossed the room and began to remove the grapes and rinse them.

"Yeah, I stopped at the shops on the way home and I bought fruit. I've had a bit too much takeaway the last few days." Mary stepped up beside him and kissed his cheek. Her breath smelled like oranges. "Did everything go alright?"

John nodded his head. "Molly told me as much as she could. I understand a bit better now."

"That's good." Mary took the grapes from him and added them to her already heaping tray of fruit. "I've got the chestnuts in my bedroom already. And I moved my telly in there so we can watch a film or two." She balanced the tray with one hand and reached for John's with the other. "I'm really glad you and Molly talked. Did you and Sherlock…?"

John shook his head. "Not really." He squeezed her hand and followed Mary to her bedroom. He thought about the brief bit of information Molly told him. "It's not my story to tell, though," he said, remembering Molly's words from earlier that evening. "When I know everything…"

"No rush. I'm worried about you, not the stories."

And once again, John was reminded that Mary Morstan was the most perfect thing in his life.

* * *

A/N: ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO.

-Janet


	25. Christmas Music

The First Twenty-Five Days of December

Chapter Twenty-Five: Christmas Music

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

Christmas morning was an almost quiet affair for John and Mary. They each received phone calls from their parents and siblings as soon as the sun rose. Text messages from various friends, relatives, and coworkers also filled their inboxes, with Lisa reminding John that he needed to ask Mary about the work-related Christmas dinner. He did ask her as soon as he responded to the text, and Mary wholeheartedly agreed to the dinner invitation.

Because neither John nor Mary purchased a Christmas gift for each other, they spent the morning quietly eating breakfast in the kitchen before returning to lounge in bed and cuddle.

In John's opinion, a quiet Christmas and a cuddle were the best presents he could have received, second only to Miss Mary Morstan.

Just as John was beginning to drift off again, he heard his phone ring. He reached for it and his eyes widened at the text.

_'Mrs. Hudson invited people to Baker Street for drinks tonight. Come if convenient.—SH'_

"Something important?" Mary murmured, and John realized she must have noticed his stiffened posture. He tried to relax as he stared at his phone.

"Yeah. I don't know. Here." He handed her the phone and watched as she read the text.

"Sherlock, right?"

"Right."

She gave him his phone back, and after studying the message again for a moment, he replaced it back on the table beside the bed. Mary shifted around in his embrace and John tightened his hold on her. "Are you going to go?"

"Probably not," he said softly. "Wouldn't it be weird? I'm hardly talking to Sherlock and the last time I was in 221B I pretty much had a breakdown. I'd like to keep the shreds of my dignity intact, thank you." He paused for a moment, and then he nuzzled the top of her head. "Sorry. That was unnecessary and rude. I'm going to ruin Christmas if I keep talking."

"You won't ruin Christmas," Mary said softly. She ran her fingers through his air, pleased when she was able to get it to stick up in all directions.

"I need a haircut."

"No you don't. I know you're a military man, but the length of your hair is perfect right now. It could even be a bit longer." She scratched his scalp and John nearly purred beneath her ministrations. She giggled and kissed his cheek. "By the way, I don't think it would be too weird if you went to Baker Street tonight. You'll see Greg and Mrs. Hudson, who you haven't seen since this whole thing started. And I can have a quiet night in. I actually have some music scores I can study—"

"You honestly think I would go without you?" John asked, shocked. "You are the only reason why I'm still functioning and friends with Molly again. If I go there, you have to come with me. Besides, Mrs. Hudson adores you and would be disappointed if I showed up without you."

"If you want me to go, I will," Mary said, leaning up to kiss his chin.

"It's settled then. If I go, we're both going."

* * *

It was snowing lightly as John shifted around in the back of the cab, his hands going from squeezing his knee to squeezing his cane to covering his mouth. It was a repetitive motion going from knee to cane to mouth, but he stopped when Mary reached over and squeezed his arm.

He turned to look at her and he asked, "Can we walk the rest of the way? I just need to breathe."

"Of course."

Stopping the cab about a block and half away from Baker Street gave John and Mary a lot of time to meander to Baker Street. John kept his arm around Mary's shoulder, partly to keep her close and partly to shield her from the cold he was subjecting her to.

"How are you feeling?" Mary asked, as they were nearing the flat. John had his eyes frozen on the window of 221B that was facing the street. He could see Sherlock's back, and it was obvious that he was playing his violin.

"Alright. Okay." He forced himself to smile, and it turned genuine when Mary stopped them and she cupped his cheeks in her hands. She stared into his eyes for a moment, and then she whispered,

"You are really brave for doing this. Facing your friends after you've been hurt, and returning to a place that you still aren't quite comfortable being in. I'm proud of you, Doctor Watson."

"All because of you," John whispered. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and with a renewed vigor in his step, he and Mary made their way to his former flat.

They let themselves in, John knowing that everyone would be upstairs in 221B and wouldn't hear them knock. He removed his coat, scarf, and hat, leaving them on a hook. He helped Mary out of her coat, admiring her simple gray sweater dress and black leggings with boots. "You look very pretty, by the way," John murmured, going towards the stairs.

"Thank you," Mary whispered, squeezing his hand.

Up the stairs they went, the sound of their feet on the stairs being disguised by the sound of Sherlock playing Christmas carols on his violin.

Mrs. Hudson probably prompted him again.

John heard Mary's breath falter once they stepped into 221B, and he wasn't certain if it was because the Christmas decorations encompassing most of the flat, or Sherlock's playing. The two of them stood in the doorway during Sherlock's performance, and before Mrs. Hudson could thank him, Mary whispered, "That was beautiful."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he stared at John in obvious surprise; no one thought he was coming, then.

"John and Mary!" Mrs. Hudson cried, jumping to her feet. She enveloped Mary in a gentle hug, kissing her cheek in greeting before turning to John.

They shared a look for a moment, and then Mrs. Hudson had her arms around John, squeezing him tightly. He breathed deeply and took comfort in Mrs. Hudson's embrace. Then he pulled away, kissing her cheek. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hudson."

"Both my boys," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Best Christmas an old woman could ever ask for."

Mrs. Hudson sent John a watery smile before she looked at Mary. "Are you hungry, dearie? I've made sandwiches and we have cake. A lot of cake."

Mary sent John a look and he nodded his head once. She took that as a sign that he was alright and she followed Mrs. Hudson into the kitchen. John steeled himself to face the room, and after a deep breath, he turned. Sherlock was preoccupied with his violin, but Molly was smiling at him tentatively. Lestrade was busily pouring a second drink into a tumbler.

_One drink won't hurt._ John closed the distance between himself and Lestrade and took the offered drink. "Hey," John said, easing down onto the sofa.

"Happy Christmas." He lifted his drink in salute, and the two of them downed their drinks.

"You must be Mary!" Molly said happily, and John looked over to see her crossing the room and helping Mary and Mrs. Hudson with their plates.

"I am! And you're Doctor Hooper, right?"

"Right, but you can call me Molly!"

With Mary sitting beside him, conversation flowed easily amongst those sitting in 221B. Sherlock provided a musical accompaniment to their talking, taking requests when Mrs. Hudson suggested them, but for the most part playing Christmas themed music. John was relieved that Mary was getting along well with Lestrade and Molly. And under regular conditions two years ago, John would have been relieved that Sherlock hadn't hurled any unfortunate deductions in her direction.

The silence from his best friend—_former best friend?_—was unsettling.

"I'm going to get some water. Does anyone want anything?"

After a chorus of "No's" from his friends, John got up and went to the kitchen. The glasses were kept in the same cabinet and he filled the glass with water from the tap. He flinched when he heard Sherlock say, "Excuse me." The sound of his footsteps entering the kitchen seemed to echo around the flat.

There was utter silence from the room the two men exited.

John placed both hands on the edge of the counter, realizing he left his cane on the floor beside the sofa. He didn't dare turn around, not sure what Sherlock was going to do or say. The silence stretched on for a long minute, and John could feel the tension creeping up his shoulders, pulling his muscles tight.

Sherlock cleared his throat and said softly, "I know you wouldn't have put your hands on Molly." John let out a breathy laugh; that was not what he was expecting. He thought he would hear harsh words about his attire, because he always hated Christmas jumpers, or something idiotic about Mary. "I was frustrated because I wanted you to talk to me like…like before."

John shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say anything. "It has come to my attention that I handled my—uhh return badly." John heard him shift his feet, a telltale sign that he was uncomfortable. "I know—I've always known that this would hurt you. But—"

"You had no choice," John spat, the words tasting foul on his tongue.

"Yes."

"Just because you knew doesn't take away how I felt for the year and a half I thought you were dead, Sherlock," John growled.

"I understand."

John clenched his fists tighter against the counter. He heard Sherlock moving again, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock's grip was tentative as if he wasn't sure the touch was allowed. "I hope one day you can hate me a little less."

John pivoted quickly, his face contorting into a look of disbelief. "Hate you? God! I _wish_ I could hate you Sherlock!" He was shouting, and he knew he shouldn't be, but he suddenly couldn't control the volume of his voice. "You are my best friend and no matter how bloody angry I am at you, I can't change that!"

He was breathing heavily and he could feel tears prickling at his eyes. He desperately needed air, and quick. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mary creeping towards the kitchen, a look of concern on her face.

Sherlock's hand suddenly dropped from his shoulder. "You still consider me your best friend?" His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat to continue. "Even after the torture I put you through?"

John covered his face, nodding his head even as his shoulders shook with soundless sobs. He was startled when he was suddenly enfolded in Sherlock's arms. "I apologize, John Watson," he said, his voice wavering.

* * *

As John was blowing his nose, he realized that everyone was no longer in the sitting room.

"Mrs. Hudson took them downstairs to look at her new blanket," Sherlock said from his perch on top of the table. He was watching John warily, unsure how the doctor was going to react while emotionally compromised.

John just rolled his eyes. "Mrs. Hudson's blanket must be fantastic, then."

"It is, actually. I purchased it for her."

John couldn't help but chuckle. He tossed his tissue into the rubbish bin and then leaned against the counter.

"It's lonely here," Sherlock said, suddenly looking away from John, staring at something across the room.

"I know." John sounded tired and he saw Sherlock wince.

"Not good?" he asked.

"A bit not good."

"When can you move back in?" John snapped his gaze in Sherlock's direction, his brow furrowed. "Even worse?" Sherlock asked. His lips quirked up slightly.

John stared at Sherlock hard for a moment. Even though he was smiling just slightly, he could see how vulnerable his friend was by asking him to come back to Baker Street. He could only imagine what the man went through while he was out doing whatever it was he was doing. _We need to talk, and soon._ "I'll think about it," he said after a moment, trying to hide his smile as Sherlock visibly relaxed, slouching a bit. "Things are different now, Sherlock. I'm very serious about Mary."

"Of course. We'll have rules."

"Rules?" John lifted an eyebrow in confusion.

"I would like to have sexual intercourse with Molly as well in the flat. We can create a schedule."

John shook his head, covering his eyes. He could feel his cheeks turning a bit pink; they _never_ talked about sex to each other. "We are not synchronizing our sexual schedules. Who even suggests that, Sherlock?" After a moment, he looked at his friend. "It wasn't a one-off then? You're serious about Molly?"

"As serious as a heart attack."

And then they started giggling.

Just like old times.

* * *

"John?"

John turned around slowly. He was standing in the middle of his old barren bedroom. The bed was still there as well as the wardrobe, but he took everything else when he moved out. The room was cold, the window open so John could breathe.

"Hi."

John watched as Mary entered the room and crossed it slowly. "Sherlock said you needed a bit of air. I thought I would come up and make sure you're okay."

John nodded his head. He held out his hand, and Mary took it. He squeezed it. "He asked me to move back here, with him."

"You should do it."

He turned and looked at her in surprise. "You miss him, and he's your friend and you two obviously mean a lot to teach other. And if I want to be honest, Baker Street is ten times closer to my flat than yours."

"That is true," John said.

"When you're ready, of course," Mary added.

John hesitated for a moment before dropping Mary's hand. He moved to his old bed and sat down slowly. "My life is very different with him, Mary." He hadn't been able to keep a relationship going longer than three months. Even if he wasn't running around all the time with Sherlock, working cases (if he ever did it again) and working at the clinic would put a strain on his relationship with Mary.

Mary joined him on the bed. She resumed their contact, placing her hand on his arm. "I'll adapt. You're much too important for me to let go, Doctor Watson."

"Miss Morstan," John breathed. "To think, twenty-four days ago, I was the freak on the train following you to work. And now…" John very gently cradled her cheek in his hand. He could see her eyes sparkling wetly, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. When he pulled away, he whispered, "I love you."

Mary returned his kiss, her hand moving to rest on the back of his neck. "And to think, Doctor Watson," she whispered, her voice choking up. "I bought you a matching green hat and scarf before I ever said," she paused to take a quick breath, "I love you too."

John carefully wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "Happy Christmas," he whispered happily.

"Happy Christmas."

_Fin._

* * *

A/N: Thank you to each and every person who read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. Your reviews and kind words have been a blessing for me. I hope that I've done a kindness for the John Watson/Mary Morstan ship, because I'm now irrevocably in love with them.

I hope S3 does them justice! Because if not, I'm just gonna have to write the fluffiest fanfiction based on this pairing, with splashes of Sherlolly thrown in as well! (Because we can't forget them, can we?)

I hope you all have a wonderful New Year's Eve, a BEAUTIFUL New Year, and so on! And thank you, thank you, thank you for reading this! As always, I appreciate every word you've said to me.

-Janet


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